


Promise

by LoaDyron



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Drama, Falling In Love, Fantasy, M/M, Political Intrigue, Romance, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:00:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 47,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21907114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoaDyron/pseuds/LoaDyron
Summary: 'It's a promise. We will meet again.'The promise made them inseparable, but the future may soon threaten Ezreal and Taric's bond. Facing two adversaries that seek to change Runeterra by any means necessary, will they be able to see each other once again?
Relationships: Ezreal/Taric (League of Legends)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Ori-Bot and Raquisha for the big help with the English language. Also a special thanks for tragedybunny for being so patient and kind helping me with my story.
> 
> This is the chapter I on Taric's POV. I hope you like this story as I am enjoying writing it.

Taric sank deeper into the basin, enjoying the warm water trickling on his toned body. As he lathered his arms, a fresh, citrusy smell filled the bath. By the sunlight bursting through the open window, illuminating his bedchamber, he contemplated his place.

The blue drapes accentuated the trim of the carvings on the canopy bed, contrasting with the white petricite walls. Sweet and sharp fragrances floated from flasks of essential oils, soaps, and herbs sitting on a shelf near the bed. The crystals embellished the chandelier above his head, highlighting greatly the delicacy of the well-crafted floral shapes.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Enter.” Taric washed the bubbles away.

A young man with a ponytail and dressed in silver armour stepped in, pushing a wooden cart loaded with Taric’s armour and weapons. “Excuse me, Sir.” He said. “Your father is waiting in the living room. It would be good of your part to not make him wait even more.” He carefully placed the equipment nearby.

Getting up from the basin, Taric grabbed a towel to dry his body. The squire’s aggrieved tone sounded strange on his ears, since the lad never spoke like this before. He used to greet him with a chatty and vibrant tone, but now seemed like someone had sucked all his life on his voice.

Realising such change on his squire, concerned, Taric asked, “Did my father said something to upset you?”

“No sir,” the squire shook his head. “Everything is alright.” He held Taric’s leather clothes.

Taric raised his arms as the squire helped him put on his shirt. His hands shivered, struggling to find the right spot to dressed the chainmail. Taric observed how determined his squire tried to hold the breastplate, but he found it quite difficult to lay it correctly against his chest. Admiring his effort, the Knight pushed up the lad’s hands in a friendly way. With his chest covered, the squire took the blue cap. Adjusting it, the lad covered Taric’s shoulders with his pauldrons.

“You can count on me in case something happened to you.” Taric spoke in a smooth tone, as he raised his leg to his squire wear his greaves.

The squire said nothing, as he limited himself to put the greaves on Taric’s legs. His silent was unusual as well. The squire used to start a conversation about his day, and the excitement of his knowledge about the silverwing raptors. But since _that day_ he had been awfully quiet, as if someone had cut out his tongue.

After he finished, he looked at his lord helmet. His hands shivered by the cold touch on the shinning helmet. The squire took a deep breath, facing his lord. “Yes, I know.” As he extended his hand to give the helmet to Taric, slippery his hands left the armour fall on the ground. “My apologises, Sir!” He kneed. “If there’s any scratch—”

Taric kneed. “Easy,” he patted the squire head. “It’s clear you aren’t in best conditions to do your task properly. Leave it for now.”

The touch of his lord on his head made the squire moving his shoulders slowly down. His hands stopped shivering and grabbed the helmet as if it was a manner of urgency.

Calmly Taric held his hand on the squire’s shoulder. “If not my father, it was me?”

“No… I mean… not really.” The squire glanced his lord’s hands on his shoulders. Then he looked down like guilt child.

“But it is related to me?” Taric asked as the squire nodded fast. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Sir, forgive to be impudent,” the squire took a deep breath, as if what he had in mind would be difficult to pronounce. “But right now, there’s no time to enjoy any conversation.”

“You are not being impudent, my dear squire.” Taric said. “I always appreciated your honesty. So, feel free to tell me what comes to your mind, deal?” he smiled.

For a second the lad pushed his upper lips to show a shy smile, however as he gazed at his lord’s helmet, he pressed tidily his lips like they would devour his flesh. He faced Taric. “Your helmet, sir.” He tried to hand over Taric’s helmet.

“No need today. Thank you.” Taric walked to his desk.

The small yet quiet place was Taric’s peaceful moments when he indulged himself with romances and poems. He loved to imagine and feel the beautiful work of others. And he would always have other ways to explore and understand other topics such as history, art and philosophy. Approaching, Taric grabbed a comb near the window.

“Are you sure? Because—" the squire laid his helmet on the bed.

Taric pushed his hair back smoothly. “It’s alright.” He combed it while walking to a large ornamented mirror of leaves in whirling shapes.

Taric smiled as he admired his shiny armour. His cape floated as he turned to closely watch his dark brown hair being combed. Winking to the mirror, he held his chin, turning his face to check his teeth. _Perfect_. Satisfied, he laid the comb back on the desk.

The squire shook his head. “Your father—" he began, watching the Knight approach the shelf near the bed. Grabbing a flask with a yellowish liquid, Taric dabbed some on his fingers, pressing them on his neck and back.

“My father wishes to speak with me again. Doesn’t he?”

“Yes. Right now, sir.”

“Very well,” said Taric as the squire placed the hammer in his leather scabbard. “Would you please be so kind as to tell him I will be down soon?” The young man finished adjusting the shield on the Knight’s back.

The squire opened the door. “Of course, sir,” he said, leaving Taric’s bedroom.

Leaving his room, Taric made his way downstairs. He noticed the bright light from the window against the Demacian banners almost blinding his eyes. The shelve with blue and golden books closer to the fireplace would be a cosy spot to sit and rest.

Reaching the end of the stairs, Taric observed the painting above the fireplace. A woman adorned in white light armour gently held a baby. At her side, a soldier in bulky white armour proudly laid his hands on her shoulder. _Father spoke very highly of you. I wish you could still be here._

The squire approached the large table in the middle of the room, where Daniel sat writing. A strong smell of coffee wafted from the seated City Guard’s mug as he read over a scroll.

A massive deep scar crossed Daniel’s left eye, twisting his face, crossing deep down on his throat. The skin seemed as if it had been sewed. Half of his lip had no flesh, looking like a wild beast had eaten it.

“He is here.” The squire announced as he stood to attention.

“Give this to the king,” Daniel said as he rolled up the scroll and sealed it.

“Right away, sir.” The squire saluted and then departed.

“Good morning, father.” Taric greeted.

As the door shut, Daniel turned his face. His small dark eyes contrasted with the heavy shadows on his face, wrinkles denoting his lack of sleep. He didn't open his lips, as if waiting for the right moment to speak.

“By Targon's Peak! You look exhausted, father!” Taric observed as he approached the table. “You should rest today.”

“It's admirable, your concern for me, son.” Daniel laid a feather in an inkwell. “But as a Demacian, this is my duty and responsibility.” He looked at his son. “And speaking of it— sit, we have to talk about this,” he addressed, pointing to a chair.

“As you wish, father.” Taric nodded as he sat.

Daniel rubbed his face. With a mechanical motion, he lifted a letter off the table. “Please read this,” he said, giving it to his son.

Taric recognised the sigil on the wax seal, a sword with wings, as the royal Lightshield family that had been ruling the country for three generations.

Taric knew what was inside. This situation had repeated itself for so long. Daniel was prepared to give the same sermon Taric was used to hearing. “Greetings from The King of Demacia, Jarvan III, to my dearest friend and City Guard, Daniel.” Taric glanced at his father.

“Continue please.”

“Although you have served our country with great honour for many years, it is with great disappointment this letter reaches you. Your son, Taric, the Dauntless Vanguard Knight, didn't arrive at the line inspection yesterday.” Taric paused to look at his father.

Daniel's strong hands gripped his soft grey beard. Daniel took an exhausted deep breath, shaking his head; seeming as if he had no available solution at hand to settle the situation. However, Taric knew that his father would never give up.

Then Taric continued reading the letter. “Your son is a formidably gifted man. The last thing we need is another Demacian defying our country’s authority.” Taric tapped his finger on the table. “We have been aware of his absence. Because of that, to restore his honour, he must come today. The Lightshields are counting on your family to do what is just and right. As the ruler of Demacia, I expect results. However, if your son doesn't collaborate, do not hesitate to contact me in private. Best regards, Jarvan III Lightshield.” After reading, Taric laid the letter on the table.

“Do you understand what you must do?” Daniel asked, picking up the letter to seal it back.

Taric leaned forward to his father. “Father, you are looking for a problem that doesn’t exist.” He patted Daniel’s shoulders. “We discussed this many times before, why do you keep insisting?”

“Why? Because clearly your king is angered at your attitude.” Daniel said, narrowing his eyes. “And yes, there is a problem. Have you read the letter with proper attention?”

“Crystal clear.” Taric caressed the letter. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Not to worry?” Daniel’s lips twisted as his voice became aggravated. “Do you expect me to stay still while others question your honour-nay, the Family’s honour?”

Taric pushed his chair closer. “Father, listen to me—"

“No! Now you listen to me, my son.” Daniel faced his son, fuming. “This is your career. Your future! All these years, you have worked so hard to be where you are. Do not disappoint your king.”

Taric always admired his father's strong discipline. As a child he used to listen to his father talking about great stories immortalising Demacia’s glories of the kingdom forever, but in the end, they were still only mere words.

Suddenly the vegetation, flowers and creatures from the forest invaded his thoughts. If he closed his eyes, he would feel the grass on his fingers, smooth on touch and fresh on smell. That joyful moment brought him bliss. Instead of answering to his father, Taric remained silent to keep admiring the beautiful image in his head.

Daniel, already fuming, observed his son’s silent, peaceful expression on his face. His blood boiled, rising to his cheeks as his face twisted in fury. “Taric!”

Taric’s delightful memory was interrupted by his father’s bitter tone. “Yes, father?”

Daniel pressed his lips tight as his eyes narrowed, staring at his son. “You are a lucky man. Do you know why?” He continued, “Because many families wish their children could work with the Dauntless Vanguard. And because they didn’t work hard enough, they are on the most shameless position in the kingdom, city guards.”

Taric glanced at the window as an animal of orange and brown feathers laid on the window’s stool, reminding him of the birds of the forest. “A shame we can’t hear them singing, the window is closed.”

“What nonsense is this? Do as your king commands!” Daniel bellowed.

“Their singing can brighten our spirits,” Taric said as he kept his attention on the window, watching the bird flying away to the sky.

Daniel’s hand reached his face, continually rubbing as a way to wash the shame away. “Protector help me please,” Taric's father murmured impatiently. “Son, you are a Dauntless Vanguard Knight, a prestigious position in the kingdom, given to you for your modest raise. And with that attitude is how you repay them?”

Then it occurred to Taric after he would take his breakfast, he could investigate the forest to find the animal he almost spotted yesterday climbing on the tree. “They must be such beautiful creatures. I wonder if they are diurnal or nocturnal beasts.” Taric observed thoughtfully.

Daniel slowly stared at Taric. His pupils had a fierce heat inside that had exploded. “You know what makes me and your mother proud?” Approaching with heavy steps, Daniel grabbed his son’s face. “Watching our son fighting bravely for our kingdom. But instead like any intelligent Demacian that would grab a sword and fight for their king and country, you on other hand grab what?” He snorted. “A flower? Is this your true best?”

But Taric remained silent on his thoughts. Just the idea of visiting the forest again excited him. He had to gather more clues so he could appreciate something so fragile and worthy of his attention.

When his son didn’t respond, Daniel forced Taric to face him. “Your mother fought beside her comrades, and like you, she raised her position.” He paused for a brief moment and then continued. “And you will do the same. You will carry your title and duty with pride not in the next year, not tomorrow.” Daniel stared intensely at his son. “Now!”

Determined to search the forest without interruption, Taric stood up from his chair, grabbing his father’s hands and laying them gently on the table. Smiling, he kissed his father’s forehead. “Don’t wait for me tonight, I may have dinner somewhere else. See you later.” Then he made his move to the door.

“And one more thing,” Daniel glanced at Taric, who had opened the door and got ready to leave. “In your training remember they need a Knight not a gardener. Do you hear me?”

As Taric left the house, the sounds of men and women came from the training yard.

Everyone, including his father, was wrong about him. Why couldn’t they see Taric didn’t need all this? The king knew his skills with weapons were formidable. Demacia's code of honour was ingrained in his mind. Taric had knowledge of his duties and responsibilities of his position in the kingdom. So then, why does everyone insist on him to be something he never felt to be right? But it was alright. Taric knew his true purpose as a Knight, since his king, and his superiors had blinded him from so many years.

He could keep watching the recruits training, but instead Taric walked through an arched passageway, where the children were chasing a cat on the streets. Taric admired the simple elegance of the house’s structures and designs. The same ones he volunteered to help damaged buildings from floods. Sprawling, symmetrical, stucco facades caught the eye with white petricite walls. Arched windows and doorways contrasted greatly with a strong fragrance coming from the flowers, forming beautiful gardens in the vast courtyards and masonry. Getting closer to the marketplace, Taric reached a tavern of the name The King’s Crown.

Opening the door, a joyful rhythm came from a bard’s lute playing in harmony with flutes, tambourines and tabors. Delighted with the ambience inside, Taric tapped his fingers to beat.

A fireplace in the middle of the tavern invited the guests to feel at home. Pictures of landscapes and farms were exhibited on the walls. A scent of roasted vegetables and potatoes wafted from a tray as a waitress shimmied by. At the tables, soldiers and merchants were enjoying their King’s Gambit game while coins were placed next to them. Closer to the musicians, a group of folks drank cheerfully in unison with the music.

“Good morning!” a redheaded young lady cheerfully said, holding a tray of mugs. “Welcome back.”

Taric smiled. “Good morning, what a lovely day darling!” Looking to the bard he said, “I see your artists have new companions.”

The redheaded waitress nodded. “They came yesterday,” she said, as another waitress passed by and served customers. “Shame you weren’t here. The boss liked their music.”

At a table closer at the entrance of the tavern, a group of adventurers and workers were eating their breakfast. One of them, looking at the main door, stood up.

“Lads! Sir Taric is here!” An old man cried out, with a joyful smile on his face.

The rest of the tavern in the place looked at Taric’s direction. “Ask him to join us,” one of the men said, waving to the table. 

Taric looked at the table that was crying his name. The old man moved his right leg slowly as if he was trying to not step on a bear trap laid upon the ground, while he was grabbing the edges of the table. The Knight noticed the old man trying his best to not shake, as Taric knew the old man’s left leg was amputated at the knee.

As the old man reached for the corner of the table, his fingers shook desperately as he tried to walk to the table. Passing by some waitresses, as he pulled them away, Taric rushed to aid the old man.

The old man stepped carefully as a waitress gave him space, but that wasn’t enough to greet Taric. As the old man took another step, he slipped and began to fall towards the ground. With a deft motion, Taric took the old man in his arms and steadied him.

“Careful,” Taric spoke as he grasped the old man’s waist with care. “What were you trying to do, my friend? Did you compete at dawn for a marathon?”

“Those bones back in my days used to run like an athlete. A trouble maker I was.” The old man said. “But right now? The only thing to do is walk as much as my legs can.”

Taric smiled. “You have to tell me about one of your adventures. It sounds as if there is much I could learn.”

“Oh lad. This old man has plenty of stories to tell you, all day,” the old man said.

“However, next time ask for my help.” Taric addressed. “Those bones are not young anymore.”

“Ah Sir Taric, let me walk as much as these old bones want,” the old man protested. “Let us enjoy your company, leave my leg to The Veiled Lady.”

Grabbing the old man’s hand under his shoulder, Taric walked with the man towards the table. As they approached it, the others received him warmly. Even people from other tables got closer to see him.

The soldiers, on the other hand, weren’t enjoying the attention given to the Knight. They glared at Taric, some muttering among themselves.

From the musicians, a small creature with fur and big ears, began playing the flute, clapping his little feet. At the same time, tabors and more pipes played along. Everyone inside lifted their mugs.

The redheaded waitress approached the table in the middle of the confusion. “Your friend wasn’t here today.”

“Garen hasn't been here at all?” Taric asked, as another waitress stopped at the table to serve a young guard that raised his hand. He blushed as the waitress blew him a flirtatious kiss.

“No hon.” The waitress pushed aside some children trying to grab her skirt. “The usual?”

“Please.” Taric nodded.

She winked. “Straight away.”

The redheaded waitress ran to a table to wait for Taric’s food. Sitting among the people, Taric was delighted by their attention. He knew the people inside out; their dreams, desires, problems, fears and paths they wanted for the future. He felt his heart swell happiness as he talked with them. He laughed at a quick-witted joke, feasted on the delectable meal with them, and offered what advice he could when it was needed.

And so, Taric enjoyed his breakfast thinking of the joy he would have of discovering the creature in the forest. Then after he finished his meal, he mounted on his horse and departed for the forest.

Riding through the vast vegetation, the tall, ancient trees glowed with the sun's radiance. It was a place where wildflowers grew, with a soft pear and grape scent, fresh and sweet as if a perfume had been spread, capable of making a gardener jealous.

Turning off onto a separate path, something suddenly fell on the grass. The horse, agitated, raised its front hooves. “Easy,” Taric patted the animal’s face gently. “No need to be afraid.”

From the corner of his eye, Taric saw something climbing down from a tree. It was a small monkey-like creature, jumping down to grab a fruit. As Taric rode in the dense vegetation, a loud metallic sound echoed nearby.

“Step by step, slowly,” Taric whispered to the horse.

Taric looked around. As the horse trotted on the grass, a little agitated, a squeal from an animal echoed through the glade. He scanned the ground, hoping to find the creature. Following the voice he spotted something at the distance.

A hooded stranger held a strange metallic cage as the pitchy squeal persisted but louder. Whatever the stranger kept doing to the creature didn’t have the best intentions. Taric couldn’t allow another delicate life to perish.

“Stop!” Taric shouted, approaching closer. “What do you think you are doing? Can’t you see the creature is suffering?”

Looking over his shoulder, the stranger laid the cage on the ground and ran far away from the place. Taric could chase and find the man responsible for hurting the animal, yet he found it more important to free the creature from the torture upon him.

Getting closer to the tiny voice, he finally saw it.

It was a squirrel, stuck in a trap. Blood covered its tiny fingers, the creature licking at them in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. Dismounting, Taric opened the trap with care. The animal tried to fly to the tree; however, he fell on Taric’s hands.

“Careful.” Taric observed the squirrel looking at the tree. “You aren’t in the best condition to climb, little one.”

The animal’s beady little eyes stared at Taric in protest. Stubborn like a spoiled child, the animal cocked his back, ready for a second attempt. He jumped forward yet again, his sharp nails slid down the tree.

“Don’t be scared.” Taric caught the animal. “It’s true you are not with an Illuminator's priest, but let me help you with what I have.”

Taric laid down his shield and hammer. Resting on the grass, his fingers touched the delicacy of the crystal shaped creamy flowers.

Taking off his cape, Taric cradled the squirrel on his chest. Searching through inside of his belt bag for bandages, he grabbed leaves nearby. Holding the animal’s tiny hands gently, Taric wrapped them with bandages.

“There.” Taric petted it with tenderness. “I will bring you later to the temple. They know what to do.”

Taric’s eyes shined to see such a rare, beautiful creature. The animal’s large ears twitched, as it climbed blissfully over his shoulders. Taric felt his heart full of joy as he touched its soft reddish fur. Scurrying down to his legs, the animal closed its eyes, moving its tail to cover itself like a blanket.

As the animal fell asleep, the Knight noticed movement in nearby bushes. Taric stared at the bushes covering the wounded animal with his cape, maybe the hooded man came back to finish when he started? If so, Taric had to protect the creature and teach the young hunter the delicate life of the squirrel. If the hooded hunter could chance his heart, they wouldn’t need to fight.

Soft steps could be heard nearby. With no apparent concern of being noticed. A shadow shouted. “Huh… excuse me.”

“Greetings!” Taric kept his stare on the shadow. “Are you the hooded hunter? If so, we can discuss this through. We don’t need blood in our hands. Let me show you how beautiful this animal is.”

The shadow finally revealed itself. “You are confusing me with someone else.” A young man pulled off his goggles. “Do you know where I can find a cave with a golden map? I know there's one somewhere around here."

“Cave with a golden map?” Taric asked, bewildered.

“The one rumoured to have—” the young man yawned as he covered his mouth. His hands rubbed on his half-opened eyes like something was twitching inside.

Witnessing the young man in such a state, Taric got up from his position. The stranger must have travelled so far to come to Demacia to look for something precious. Such dedication and devotion made Taric not just curious but also empathetic to the stranger’s cause.

Approaching the young man, Taric gestured for him to come. “Please come, friend,” he invited the stranger, pointing to a tree next to his spot. “You must have travelled from far to come here. Sit. Have a rest.”

“Why not?” The young man shrugged.

The stranger sat on the soft grass. As birds flew overhead singing, he closed his eyes resting his body. “Not a big fan of the forest to be honest.” The stranger put his hands behind his head. “But not a bad place to laze around.”

Taric sat back on his spot. “You are not used to this at all? This peaceful and quiet moment?” He asked inquisitively, patting the squirrel under his cape.

“After a long day of adventure, sure.” The stranger took a deep breath. “However, the noise of the machines, the pressure of the day… All these things remind me of home.”

“Where are you from?” Taric moved closer to the stranger.

“Not Demacia, that’s for sure.” The young man winked. “Though… are you truly a Demacian?”

Observing the stranger, Taric noticed a lot of ocean-like fur encircling his neck from the lapel of his short leather coat. “Body and soul.” He pushed his hair back with vanity. “Why are you asking?”

“You two.” The stranger pointed to Taric and the sleepy squirrel. “Demacians by nature don’t pay attention to that stuff.” His hands rested on his chest. “I’m from the healthiest country of Runeterra. Not to mention our technology is the best.”

“Oh, you mean Piltover!”

“That’s the place.”

Taric’s eyes wandered to the stranger’s untamed blond hair. Those strange large glasses made of silver, attached with leather seemed uncomfortable at first sight. Resting on the stranger’s neck, Taric wondered, when put in the right place, if it wouldn't be uncomfortable. The size seemed small for the young man’s head. “Some Piltovens citizens are living here. However, my opportunities to visit your country have been non-existent.” He approached the young man.

“Eh, not surprised. We are everywhere.” Realising how close Taric got, the young man glided to the side. “Not to mention you are missing a lot. Piltover has a lot to visit. You will get lost to be honest.”

As Taric drew closer, he could see upside down triangles shine for just a second in the stranger's cheekbones, then disappear. _That just now! Could it be?_ Taric observed thoughtfully. “Now I am intrigued. You have to tell me more— my apologies! Where are my manners?” He stuck out his hand. “Please call me Taric.”

The young man looked at his hand. He smiled. “My name's Jarro.” He shook Taric’s hand, nonchalant. “Jarro Lightfeather. Nice to meet you.”

Taric raised his eyebrows at Jarro. The young man was well-known in Demacia for the discovery of a treasure in the country, which remained an enigma. It involved the death of a famous actress who performed with a mask of a lamb. According to the tale, the actress died at the end of the play performing as a maiden.

Many wanted for answers from him. How did she die? What was the cause of death? What did the theatre company confide in him? Yet Jarro simply answered, “Even for myself, it’s a mystery.”

From the moment he learned of Jarro’s name, Taric had been curious to meet him in person. He never thought it would be under these circumstances.

Yet Jarro’s name sounded odd as he presented himself. Not because it was a strange name, but mainly because the young man was lying. If that was the case, he had been using this name for so long, and many including Taric had believed it all this time. Taric found it queer but decided to keep up appearances.

“Likewise.” Taric shook Jarro’s hand. “You mentioned a cave with a map.” He looked at Jarro’s right hand.

From his spot, his eyes hypnotised, stared at the large oval sapphires, covering half the stranger’s arm. As Taric kept admiring Jarro’s bronze gauntlet, atop engraved on an octagonal shape was a shiny sapphire.

“It’s about a map of stone covered in gold that is supposed to be around here.” Jarro didn’t look surprised at how Taric kept staring at his gauntlet.

“Are you a scholar?”

“Well… no, but I have a college degree,” Jarro said, adjusting the goggles atop his head with a smirk.

Taric studied Jarro’s clothing. Those strange glasses, his leather trousers and light shirt, his boots, the belts on his waist and legs. All these little details didn’t fit with someone that has a high education. But still, Taric was sceptical.

“An explorer?”

Jarro smiled. “For now, I’m just an adventurer. But in the future, everyone will know my name with that title.” He opened his bag.

As Jarro’s hand reached inside, he took out a small dark notebook. Taric looked at the fast handwriting upon the notebook’s cover, as he could read: _Piltover's greatest, fully accredited explorer_. Covering his mouth Taric laughed. Not yet an official adventurer and Jarro wanted to be recognised in the world. Despite the lies and all the sudden Jarro’s reappearance in Demacia, Taric found himself admiring the mystery behind it. The importance of the golden map on Jarro’s life and why the necessity to have a different name? All of these he considered beautiful.

“Ah! You are witnessing my life’s work.” Jarro looked at Taric who gazed, greatly interested, at his notebook. “One day this will be recognised.” Grabbing a pen, he began to write.

What was he writing about? The map? Records? About them? Moving behind the adventure’s back, Taric tried to look over Jarro’s shoulders. 

“Jarro…”

“Yes, Taric?”

“Would you allow me to read your journal?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks tragedybunny for your patience.
> 
> Chapter II in Ezreal's prespective. I hope you like it as I enjoyed writing it.

Ezreal gazed at Taric in belief. For the first time in his years of adventuring, someone was genuinely interested in his journal.

How many times had he negotiated with the Piltover Explorers Guild manager? How regularly he tried to discuss with the Guild for more recognition? How often had he risked his neck to prove to them how serious he was? How frequently had he worked with people; in the hopes they could pay full accreditation of the Guild?

Despite all his efforts, his entry had been denied.

And then an idea occurred to him. If Ezreal could use Taric to spread his fame around Demacia, that could be a start for his glory in Runeterra. But for that Taric had to witness how prowess Ezreal was.

With this opportunity, Ezreal could steal the map. But for that to happen, Taric couldn't suspect his actions. The map must be in his hands as soon as possible. Otherwise, his bright future would never come to pass in the world's eyes. After all, his parents were somewhere in Runeterra, waiting for him.

“With this,” Ezreal held forth his journal, giving it to the Knight. “You will not get bored. This will be the best you will read in your life.”

Taric smiled courteously. “Thank you for allowing me to read your journal.”

Turning to his horse Taric knelt down to the animal, laying the hurt squirrel on its back. Patting the horse's head, the animal grateful laid its head down.

Ezreal watched as Taric opened the journal scanning the pages. Quirking an eyebrow, Ezreal smirked pompously. Taric would love his adventures and who knows? He could turn to be his biggest fan? After all, with so much danger and excitement Ezreal was the best of all.

“Hm…” Taric looked at him. “Wouldn't you mind my company?”

Taric's calm eyes met Ezreal's leery ones. He wasn’t quite sure to accept someone else with him. He got used to being alone all the time, it had never crossed his mind to have company on his adventures. Perhaps Taric was trying to be nice? Ezreal thought.

“You can go Taric, it’s fine.” Ezreal faced the direction to find the cave.

“Are you sure, you don’t want my help?” Taric asked.

“I’ve done this before alone so…” Ezreal shrugged. “Got used to it.”

Taric made silence for a while as he returned his attention to Ezreal’s journal again. His eyes followed the cover’s letters, and opening it he tapped on a page.

“You will find many dangers—”

“Huh, typical adventure thing.”

“Or find a possible mystery to solve that requires collaboration with someone.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe you will need to solve a puzzle or an ancient inscription,” Taric added as he showed to Ezreal the journal. “Plus, all the details you write inside sound beautiful and fun.” He smiled. “I’m curious about your adventures. You intrigue me.”

Taric’s voice didn’t hesitate as if he got himself ready to speak even more. Ezreal never experienced this before since usually many at his encounter would leave him alone, but not Taric. By his intense glimmer on his eyes and his gentle lips, Ezreal got a feeling he would make him company.

Ezreal could try and ask him a second time to leave, but deep inside he knew it would be useless.

“It's not my custom to bring someone with me,” Ezreal stated that since rejecting Taric’s offer sounded out of question. “But sure, you can come with me.”

“Thank you for accepting me into your adventures,” Taric said.

Ezreal walked through the dense vegetation as he observed Taric grabbing his journal again. Taric didn't consider reading the journal dull. His warm smile, the delicacy with which he lifted the pages like an ancient inscription.

Every time Taric turned a page, the leaning of his head indicated that he wanted to know more. His eyes opened widely, maybe for something unusual? Perhaps a curious secret? Or merely because he was so immersed in Ezreal's adventures? With so many mysteries discovered by him, Taric would no doubt be impressed.

Taric laughed, all of a sudden.

“What?” Ezreal looked at him. “Which page are you on?” He approached carefully. “Please tell me! There's a lot to laugh about.”

“By… the… Protector!” Taric covered his mouth.

Ezreal smiled. “Yes, you know that is to be expected,” crossing his arms. “There's a lot of funny people. So, you can bet on my journeys, they will get famous for their brightness if you catch my drift.” He winked.

Taric laughed as if Ezreal was telling a joke.

“Aaand… for you to laugh like that, there's no doubt it’s about the captain. He was an idiot.” Ezreal moved one hand to his forehead. “He was this typical pirate, you know? Big funny fancy hat, eye patch and stuff. Yet, he had this short bad temper, yes something like that. Which, of course, didn't help me at all. And here's why.” He raised one finger. “I was uh… "investigating" their lime-grog to see if what they say was true, you know? Being good and stuff. Yet… they see me touching one of them.”

“Aha…” Taric kept laughing.

“Yes, no doubt you are thinking how stupid he was to not let me have at least one sip, right? Like… what could possibly go wrong? But whatever. Anyway.” Ezreal's chest filled with pride. “He was very determined to make me jump out the ship, and as usual, he was convinced otherwise. Don't ask me how, even the best have their secrets that they don't reveal, in this case, me.” He continued his tale like he had won an argument. “All started with a dark and windy day, with a grey sky as if at any second it will rain. The crew? We were all safe, at least that's what our navigator thought. But…” Ezreal made a pause and then continued. “As the rain fell harshly from the sky, the ship moved unbalanced. At that time, the ship's logs were being attested, and of a sudden a poach of rough seas claimed the navigator. What happened, you may ask?”

Ezreal had a huge smirk on his lips. He was so pleased he couldn't contain the feeling of greatness; Taric already glorified him for being the best. “The poor man didn’t make it; he was the captain though. But with my quick thinking and with the star charts, I saved the day! The best part? They gave me a field promotion! Not bad right? For someone like me that just started, it was impressive, isn't it Taric?”

“That's not — aha, the part of your journey I am reading.” Taric closed the journal.

“No?” Ezreal looked puzzled. “Let me see.” As Taric showed the page, laughing. “Yes, it’s understandable if you don’t believe it at first, but yes, Jarro can jump that distance,” Ezreal said nonchalantly as possible to impress the Knight, tossing a little of his hair on his eyes.

“Sorry, but this is funny!” Taric held his mouth to keep himself from laughing “The archers of my crew are just like you, however, jumping like this? Never. That's not possible.”

Ezreal puffed out his chest. “That's because they haven’t met me yet.”

“In that case, can you show me, you can jump on this distance described in your journal?” Taric winked.

Ezreal grinned. “Ehe… if you think that's a lie, then prepare to be surprised.” He couldn’t wait to make Taric look like a moron after he realized Ezreal’s greatness.

Taric resumed his reading, as both walked side-by-side in the forest, that simple moment made Ezreal feel like a prince. Adjusting his goggles, straightening his posture, he felt extremely exceptional.

Taric turned another page. And another. And another, as he stared at the journal.

“What now?” Ezreal asked.

“Occasionally you visit your uncle.” Taric looked to the next page.

“Yes, that's true,” Ezreal answered like he was speaking of someone that didn't exist.

Taric swung his serious gaze at Ezreal as if he noticed something in his tone of voice. That couldn’t be possible, how could he? Taric didn’t know anything about him. And if he had realized anything at all, Ezreal hoped he wouldn’t start a boring sermon-like: “Don’t speak about your uncle like that.”, “It’s your family! Respect him.”

Instead, Taric remained silent and returned to his reading. After several pages, he closed the journal. “Are we close to our destination?”

At a distance, Ezreal spotted the mountain's peak “Almost. How are you finding the reading?”

“A compelling collection,” Taric nodded. “Would you allow me to read the rest?”

Ezreal smiled broadly. “Be my guest.”

Walking in the dense forest for a while, they reached a place of rocks piled on one another, guiding them to a passage covered with branches and moss. Between the leaves and branches, clothes were tied on trunks, along with feathers and what seemed to be skeleton parts of a deer. Ezreal glanced around, wondering if they would face barbarians; maybe they will catch one in the bushes.

“This is it.” Ezreal pointed.

“Looks promising.” Taric looked into the intense darkness.

“It always does.” Ezreal put his hands on his waist.

“Then if you allow me.”

“Yes? What about it?”

“Let me dedicate this moment to our beautiful journey.”

Ezreal laughed. “Why are you saying that?'

Taric smiled. “Just as you are responsible for your adventures, my duty is to protect you.” Laying a hand gently on his chest. “Let me be your guardian on this investigation.”

Allowing Taric to come along with Ezreal was a good idea after all. He had a sturdy body which was always useful. He would never suspect a thing. Plus, his eagerness to protect could also be another factor to take advantage of this situation. Everything was in place and Ezreal couldn’t more pleased than ever.

“Fair enough.” Ezreal nodded. “Then let me show you what true adventure means aside with the best adventurer ever.”

“I look forward to travelling with you.” Taric put Ezreal's journal in his bag. “Let's find out what this cave hides, shall we?”

Ezreal smiled, excited. “Trust me, this adventure will be the best in your life.”

“My heart is overjoyed to hear that.” Taric stepped forward. “Let me be the first to go inside.”

“Of course.” Ezreal stared at his glove.

“Your gauntlet is dazzling!” Taric admired it again. “Where did you get that?”

Demacians don't have much tolerance for magic. I can simply say it was found somewhere, or… a friend gave it to me. Or simply say it was discovered on my journeys. Yes! This is good. He will not ask me further questions. Ezreal glanced at Taric that kept his eyes on the gems, like an obsession.

“It was discovered during my travels.” Ezreal raised an eyebrow. Why such appreciation with a crystalline matrix? Shouldn’t Taric be disgusted by this? Or not approving? But it was better this way after all Ezreal needed him to be fooled.

Taric’s eyes glimmered with relish. “Really? That's fantastic!”

Ezreal shook off some dust on his gauntleted hand. “Yes, you know this is to be expected. All it was necessary was to follow some notes, and then the gauntlet was found.”

“Do you have any light? We will need it to go inside.” Taric glanced to the entrance. “Going blind in the dark isn't wise.”

Ezreal glanced at his glove. “Well… we have it.”

“You mean your gauntlet?” Taric asked.

Ezreal nodded. “Look… you Demacians are sceptical, about magic. I don't blame you.” He tapped his glove proudly. “But rest assure, everything is under control—"

“How have you been using it, exactly?” Taric asked, crossing his burly arms.

“Very simple.” Ezreal smiled confidently. “To light the dark, blink small distances, avoid fights, and… fight if necessary. See? Isn't bad, right?”

Taric's eyes followed Ezreal’s ones, sinking deep on his gaze. They had a tender touch but distance at the same time. Silently, he moved one hand, rubbing his chin. “When you arrived, have you been using magic?”

“No.” Ezreal shook his head.

A feeling of danger travelled Ezreal's spine. The same adrenaline that had kept him company on his adventures. The excitement that always drove the heart to dive in danger! He knew Demacia and its rules, the consequences that he could suffer. Taric soon will arrest him, denying him further entry into the country.

Taric came closer but Ezreal stepped back, and Taric stepped forward. Then stopped. “You are fortunate to not have used magic.” He addressed observantly. “Because if you were, and if our mage seekers found out that you have used it, you will be in big trouble.”

“But we need light, isn't it?” Ezreal said with a confident tone, trying to sound wise. “You said it yourself,” pointing at Taric. “Walking in the darkness wasn't the greatest idea.”

“Our king and those responsible for dealing with magic say: Magic is like a filthy disease which spreads and never stops. And people become violent and impulsive.” Taric explained. “However, it never seemed like that to me. Having magic sounds great fun and something to admire as well.”

Ezreal gazed once again at Taric. His reaction as a Demacian was so unexpected. He couldn’t believe what he just heard; however, he wouldn’t allow this opportunity to escape. His situation at hand would work in perfection.

“Well...” Ezreal spoke in bafflement. “So, this means that you—"

Taric nodded. “The use of your beautiful gauntlet’s magic is good. Use it comfortably in my presence.”

“Really? Thanks a lot!” Ezreal said, filing his chest with joy.

“Do you have everything with you?” Taric asked.

“We have everything necessary.” Ezreal pointed to himself, proud of the question asked. “You are with the best adventurer of your entire life, safety first.”

“Then, let us begin our journey.” Taric glanced at the darkness ahead.

As they passed throughout the darkness, surrounded by rocks, soil, and plants, the skeletons danced with the wind.

Already inside, sounds of water drops echoed in the dark. The intense blue light from Ezreal's gauntlet gem illuminated great numbers of rocks covered with moss and branches.

Walking downwards, they looked to both sides, searching for a suspicious sound, or merely a familiar one to break the silence. The damp humid air circulated inside, in a mixture of musty and earthy scent; as if the place had been abandoned for decades. As they walked deep down, of a sudden, Ezreal's eyes swift to the three crossroads.

In his mind, a vision of the same intersection played, with him having a conversation with a mysterious identity about Shuriman inscriptions and ancient glyphs which lead to the cave location. After a long discussion with the identity, Ezreal came to a conclusion. The middle path.

As the light crossed the narrow corridor, in the middle, there could be seen a cold campfire and a clay pot with washed primitive spoons. Vegetables and pieces of rabbit meat were buried on the ground.

Ezreal searched in the place for an inscription on the rocks. As its gem light touched one stone closer to a hole, a strange symbol shone faintly. There! This symbol has the same description as he told me days ago. This is the path. Ezreal signed Taric to follow him.

After crawling through a long corridor, the water drops continued, falling closer. Ezreal and Taric reached their destination. A large cavern with stalactites covered with moss was divided by an extensive pool of water.

“Can you swim?” Ezreal looked at the Taric.

Taric nodded. “There's something on the other side, isn't there?” He looked to the horizon.

“Yes,” Ezreal answered, turning to the rocks nearby. “We just have to know what exactly.”

Taric approached the border of the river. Fishes swam along with some frogs jumping in the water, in hopes of finding a rock to land on. He reached down with his hand.

“Calculating the depth?” Ezreal searched the rocks.

Taric nodded. “What do you suggest we do? This is more of your expertise than mine.”

“Glad you asked,” Ezreal said, laying one hand on his waist. “All nature hides magic. It always does. So basically,” while the free hand pointed to the opposite side of the place. “You will have to swim there, while I will search the rocks.”

“Do you believe it's the answer?” Taric took off his breastplate, as his eyes looked at the adventurer's gauntlet.

“Yes. From all my experience, if we encounter something of this nature,” Ezreal touched one rock, “The opposite side will have a clue that links with this side.”

“Oh, got it.” Taric took off the rest of his armour.

Laying down his weapon and shield, Taric cast his eyes on the gauntlet, again.

Jarro realised Taric gazing at the gauntlet with big admiration. “Found my gauntlet of your interest, Taric?”

“You could say that, yes.” Taric approached the border. “It’s your gauntlet’s gems! They are beautiful! Stunning! Fabulous even!”

“Well…” Ezreal smirked by Taric’s response. This was something he wasn’t expecting to counter at all, especially in a Demacian. A Knight liking gems? He found it weird but funny at the same time. Ezreal wondered if Taric imagined himself surrounded by jewellery. And with that in mind, he imagined Taric delighted by having a bathtub full of gems. He was in heaven, grabbing a ruby with a smile. “Glad you like it so much. This is Shiriman, you know?”

“Really?” Taric asked utterly joyfully, as his eyes shone even more. “That beautiful weapon came far away? You have to tell me your story.” Diving in the water.

“You will be first to know, don’t worry,” Ezreal said, watching Taric swimming on the water.

As Taric disappeared, Ezreal returned his attention to the rocks. Feeling their rough texture, he noticed on the front familiar holes. He had seen these types before in his expeditions, especially in ancient tombs, temples, and ruins. And by his experience dealing with these, Ezreal could tell the old civilization had technology for defence from thousands of years. He glanced to the other side, far away at Taric's shadow.

“Can you hear me?” Ezreal’s voice echoed in the place.

“Perfectly,” Taric shouted, climbing onto land on the other side.

“Anything of interest?”

“There are three Demacian symbols, representing justice, honour and duty.”

“The answer—"

“Let me try.”

Whatever Taric did, of a sudden the place quivered, as the front hefty rocks emerged from the water. Ezreal moved slowly forward. As he did so, a bird flew inside. Without warning, arrows shot swiftly from the holes in the rocks behind him. Ezreal dodged them and watched as the bird tumbled into the lake.

Getting closer to the edge of the water, Ezreal aimed his gauntlet at the first rock with a relaxed grin. With that, he hopped Taric could watch him closely and be impressed by his skills.

The gem shone as Ezreal’s gauntlet involved itself with magic, rays of light danced around his glove. Like cracks his gauntlet divided itself, forming a blue bow shape of magical energy on Ezreal’s left hand.

Moving faster Ezreal blinked to the rock. As his fingers grabbed a crack, arrows fired rapidly like a shot from a gun. Hot mist emerged from the hot water.

Ezreal jumped quickly as his gauntlet instantaneously blinked him to the rock forward. But unexpectedly, at an astronomic speed, an arrow caught his jacket. Tearing off a little piece of his jacket, he grabbed immediately the next stone. Yet slippery his boots landed wrong on the rock, making almost Ezreal fall in the water.

“Will you keep doing this all day?” A male Voice said, coming from his gauntlet.

“There’s no other option.” Ezreal linked to the next stone. “Just keep giving me more energy.”

“My power is limited boy,” The Voice said annoyed. “Do not waste it without thinking.”

“Geez, you sound like my uncle now. Always whining his nephew to be careful with this and that.” Ezreal aimed again. “Just stop complaining and collaborate, and the map will be in our hands soon.”

He reached the penultimate rock. Gauging the distance between him and the Knight, Ezreal concluded that he would need Taric’s strength for him to land properly on the ground; since the distance had a gap between the last rock and the lake.

Aiming the gauntlet, Ezreal looked at Taric’s arms. Even if he jumped from the Knight’s location, he would never reach the land. However, if Taric caught him in time, Ezreal would not die.

“Are you alright?” Taric asked, approaching the edge.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Ezreal answered, aiming the gauntlet closer to Taric’s arms. “Can you give me a hand? The distance is a little big.”

Taric opened his arms. “Jump to me. Is safe.”

As Ezreal’s glove formed the blue bow shape, coming from it, particles linked the adventurer closer to the edge, immediately he moved his hands to reach Taric’s ones. As Ezreal’s fingers touched the rough texture of the rock, he slipped on the gemstone. Immediately, Taric grabbed his hands pushing up.

“What do you think it may be?” Taric asked, moving him closer to a big rock.

“It seems we will have to deflect something against the arrows.” Ezreal got up fast. “And by the looks of it, it’s magic.”

Taric moved his shield to protect from a group of arrows moving to their direction. “Keep finding the source.” As they hit on the shield, the weapon absorbed them, making the shield brighter. “You will have my protection while you discover a way to dispel the magic.”

Like any place with magic, by Ezreal’s experience in his adventures, he knew there was always a mechanical structure somewhere in the place. It may be by removing an object, pushing something, or finding a secret passage. However, it didn’t seem to be the case.

According to our conversation, a gemstone should shine. My gauntlet just needs to get closer. Illuminating the place, Ezreal found a shining symbol on a rock at the end.

As his fingers touched the gemstone, all the rocks corkscrewed, transforming into mirrors. Glancing, after recharging his weapon, Ezreal aimed his gauntlet shooting, a blast of magical energy which created a hole in the cave wall.

As the light from the sky reached one of the mirrors, a powerful magical light shot at the mirrors destroying them. Shards of broken glass exploded, as the rocks created a bridge through the water.

“Let me grab my armour.” Taric looked at the first rock.

“Of course.” Ezreal laid his hands in his pocket relaxed, wondering if rocks would handle Taric’s weight.

Jumping to the other side, Taric fought against the gravity as he struggled to pull himself up.

Striding on the bridge, Taric reached to the other side. As he picked up his armour, the rocks shook, he grabbed his arms. Trying to calculate the distance and the lake, he approached the border.

“Do you think you can grab my pieces of armour?” Taric yelled.

“I can try,” Ezreal yelled back, opening his arms.

Yet by the looks of the Knight’s armour, Ezreal had a slight suspicion about it. Looking at Taric raising his arms with his breastplate, he stepped back. Running a little, he threw the armour.

Ezreal followed the heavy piece of Taric’s armour flying until it was closer. He opened his arms, as the breastplate was approaching him. As he grabbed the armour, the gravity pushed him to the ground.

After Ezreal tried to grab the last piece of armour, Taric moved, carefully as the bridge trembled like an earthquake. Behind, rock by rock, the bridge began to fall into the water.

With the situation ahead Ezreal wondered what Taric would do, as he observed him lumbering on the bridge. If he didn’t react fast, Taric would fall; but if he ran —

Taric sprinted. Violently like a volcano in its fury, the bridge collapsed rushing towards him. As he reached the border of the bridge, Taric could feel the bridge closer. At the last second, as the rocks fell on his feet, he jumped as far as he could. Not reaching to the top of the land, he made a big effort to climb up.

Taric caught up his breath. “Well, that didn't go as planned.” He got up, dressing his armour again. “Let's process the journey.”

The massive rock serving as a door rose slowly as both left the bridge room. Inside of the intensive dark room, far away, four columns surrounded a floating golden tablet. As Ezreal raised his gauntlet, its gem illuminated their surroundings. Roots from trees had blocked paths and walls, as some flowers bloomed, making the place seem like a god-like paradise garden; colourful with elegant shapes.

As Taric stepped onto the grass, suddenly, knives felt down like rain. Instinctively, he raised his shield. It was time for Ezreal to shine. Although Taric signed him to follow, Ezreal aimed at the spot where danger awaited him.

Turning, Taric approached. “You will hurt yourself!” he said, concerned. “Don't do that!”

But, Ezreal disobeyed Taric’s advice. As he rushed to the tablet’s direction, knives fell in the room. The blade’s knife was about to penetrate on his flesh.

Ezreal blinked to avoid the arrows but wasn’t enough to escape from their wrath, on the minimal second knives penetrated his trousers’ cuffs.

Ezreal took off the knives on his trousers. He looked upon his head. On the holes from the ceiling of the place, he knew a mechanism was ready to fire them at any second. He loved the sense of danger, the adrenaline that his adventures always offered him; and that moment was one of them.

Closing his fist, Ezreal tried to recharge his gauntlet so he could blink again, yet nothing happened. This meant one thing, his gauntlet’s energy wasn’t ready yet to fire another magical power. Ezreal was frustrated by his situation as he could hear Taric’s armour clinking as he ran.

Ezreal took a deep breath while his heart bounced nervously as if he was racing in a horse competition. The knives shoot in his direction. Its speed seemed like an electric shock landing on earth.

The knives got closer. Ezreal could feel they eagerly wanted to murder him. His small breath trembled anxiously forcing a smile on his face. He had to sprint to the table’s place, but, how could he?

Soon he would perish in Demacia with no name for himself. His parents wouldn’t see him shining like a prince on a throne, holding his treasures from Runeterra. He would not meet them anymore.

As the knives were about to meet his hair, a shield covered him. Taric had arrived to his aid. “Next time please, listen to my advice.”

“I have been in this situation many times.” Ezreal looked at the tablet floating. “And it will happen again.” As his heartbeat returned back.

Taric sighed. “Jarro please, this is not the time for games. You could have died.”

“My first adventure started with my travel from my country to Shurima to have it, risking my neck for it.” Ezreal pointed to the gauntlet, proudly smiling. “Dealing with ancient traps coming from a sarcophagus, facing desert beasts, escaping barely with my life while the building was collapsing. A good start for the best, no?”

“But life is beautiful.” After another rain of knives, Taric raised his shield to protect once again. “Too much even to not be wasted.”

“But that’s exactly the point.” Ezreal glanced at Taric. “If life is so intense, what’s the point of not testing the limits? Life without danger it’s boring.”

Taric widened his eyes as he raised once again his shield to protect them from the arrows. “You surprise me, Jarro. You really do.” He smiled friendly. “If that’s your wish then stay with me, until we reach that.” He pointed to the golden table.

“That was my uh… plan all along.” Ezreal aimed his gauntlet once again. “But first—"

In that instant, Taric gently pushed the magical glove away. “You will not need it. Let your beautiful weapon rest.” He advised. “Stay with me, at my side, and you will be saved.”

Ezreal wanted a second attempt to reach the tablet, however, the adventurer felt Taric tempting him. It was so irresistible to deny his request, almost as if the Knight was a powerful mage casting a charm spell. “Of course. This time you lead.”

Taric chuckled. “It’s not about leading.” He began to walk and so the adventurer. “I am your guardian. My duty is to make sure you are safe.” He winked.

“Of course.” Ezreal made an elegant gesture mimicking a nobleman gesturing to Taric to pass through him. “After you then, my Knight.”

Realising Taric had his attention on the tablet, Ezreal from time to time glanced at the roof. As they walked a little, he spotted some brightness in the holes, more would come. As it happened, he alerted Taric of the event. He raised his shield, leaving his weapon to block the attack.

Both looked at another. By Taric’s warm smile, Ezreal got an indication the Knight was pleased by his good deed.

After several times protecting and warning, both were getting closer to the place that Ezreal needed. A couple of runs and they would reach the destination.

“If we ran, we would have a chance to reach the place,” Ezreal suggested as Taric calculated the distance.

“You are right.” Taric held his shield firmly. “At your mark.”

“Steady…” Ezreal glanced to the holes, ready to fire. “Ready…” Finally, the knives shoot violently like they were in battle. “Now!”

Both ran on the table's path as the knives fell. Just as he was about to be hit by one, Taric used his shield, yet a knife penetrated all the way through his thigh.

“Hmph!” Taric groaned.

“We are close.” Ezreal looked at the tablet. “Just keep going.”

Taric winced as he slowly and painfully made his way towards his destination.

Ezreal rubbed his chin. Why didn’t the tablet shine? Was there any trick he had to do around the room? According to his conversation with the Voice, the map should shine like the sun, as a reaction to someone with magical power.

Ezreal observed the columns. All sculptures of warriors holding shields were turned to the tablet. He raised his gauntlet and nothing happened.

“Give me your power!” Ezreal demanded.

“Giving you power?” Taric raised an eyebrow puzzled. “How? I’m not a mage.”

“Are you stupid?” The Voice said, annoyed.

Ezreal’s blood boiled as he blew an exaggerated sighed. “Are you an idiot?” He tapped his foot, frustrated. “Just give me your power! We have to do something here.”

Taric approached. “Are you alright? Do you need me to do something?” He asked clearly with concern on his tone.

Realising Taric got closer, Ezreal stepped back. “Yes, I’m fine!” He raised his voice.

“You are too stressed to proceed with your quest, Jarro,” Taric spoke in a soft manner. “At least let me help you. Just please tell me how.”

“Look… Taric.” Ezreal took a deep breath as he rolled his eyes. “Your so-called duty here is done, got it? Done. Over. Now grab your stuff and go away.”

Taric’s eyes remained tender, as his lips moved on slowly. “Are you sure? Because clearly you need assistance. We can talk, sometimes letting what’s in your head out—”

“Boy…” The Voice took a deep breath. “You said clearly you found the place. Don't you dare demand something from me!”

“Fine!” Ezreal snapped as he faced Taric. “Right now, what I have in mind is you to go away. No need for talks or sermons, alright? Just— go.”  
Taric gazed at Ezreal with his lips sealed, he opened to say something in return but decided to close them. He grabbed his blue cape and approached Ezreal that turned his attention to the golden tablet.

“With my cape, you may find the comfort you need.” Taric offered.

Something inside Ezreal hugged his pumping organ, warm like tender fire with a gentle pace. Taric’s massive hands felt like silk covering Ezreal shoulders with his cape. Ezreal’s body shivered as his hands began to sweat, and the fire inside grew as his heart raced.

Ezreal threw Taric’s cape away. “Just go!” He shouted. “Leave me alone.”

In silence Taric grabbed his cape, adjusting on his shoulders. “If that’s’ what you wish.” He turned his back. “Do you know where the exit?” He asked.

“No idea. Find yourself.” Ezreal answered, crossing his arms.

“I don’t understand why you are rejecting my help.” Taric shook his head. “But if that’s’ what makes you comfortable. I will not disturb you.” Taric looked around as he stepped on the floor in pain. Then glancing over his shoulder to Ezreal, he said, “We will meet again. I’m sure of it.”

Ezreal said nothing as he watched Taric aimlessly finding a way to leave the place until Ezreal no longer heard the Knight’s heavy footsteps in the room.

“Took you time to make him leave.” The Voice protested.

The warm fire inside began to vanish as Ezreal took a deep breath and felt like glacier inside of his heart. Blade scars travelled his chest as he hugged himself. Yet… stubbornly the small heat desired to remind inside, like an addiction. Ezreal squeezed his arms as he forced his mind to think of his glories and all the treasures he founded. The heat gradually disappeared until nothing occupied his mind but only his discovery.

“Shut up.” Ezreal crossed his arms. “And responding to your stupid observation, you know perfectly there's nobody better than me. So, stop acting like a child and just give me your power.”

“You are talking with the emperor!” The Voice said mad. “If you talk with me like that just one more, I swear by my ancestors you will be a dead corpse.”

“And how will you kill me? Hum?” Ezreal grinned, satisfied with his own response like he had won the debate. “You said it yourself you need me to empower the gauntlet, which of course now is mine.”

“By the Gods.” The Voice said vividly with hunger. “Go ahead. Use my magic.”

And he tried again, and again, but nothing happened. Frustrated, Ezreal kicked a rock from the ground. After all, this was the right location.

In that instant, he remembered their conversation. There was no doubt in his mind that it was supposed to be in the cave. Which brought him to question if the cave had the answer he searched for.

“Aha!” The Voice scoffed. “You are wrong! You made a mistake!”

“Not really,” Ezreal said, walking around the statues. “Just… misdirection. That's all.”

“Admit it—" The Voice said in a withering tone.

“Well if it amuses you hear me— hold it!” Ezreal examined excitedly to the map and to the statues. “Upon shadow and light, you shall find the passage to the chamber of secrets.” He smiled widely. “Of course! Now it all makes sense.”

When he held the gem's light closer to the statues, their eyes shone like the sun, rotating clockwise. A big thump echoed, making the cave tremble. Huge amounts of magical energy were concentrated in the statue's eyes. From them came blasts of magical energy hitting on the map.

Like a spell, the map vanished, leaving the place in darkness. Particles spread in the air, forming the Demacia map. A circle shone faintly on top of what seemed to be buildings close to the Demacian king's home.

Suddenly, all the cave trembled violently as if the place was about to explode. Using the gauntlet’s light, the adventurer glanced at the floor in which cracks were forming. Ezreal smiled satisfied. He couldn’t complain about the nature of the place, since these scenarios were familiar to him.

Lowering his body, putting his fingers on the ground Ezreal prepared to sprint. With enough balance and speed, the adventurer ran through the place. The floor trembled as some rocks fell from the ceiling. As feet stepped on the cracks, the floor fell. Ezreal rushed to the end of the place. Then it occurred to him, Taric had his journal but at the end, it didn’t matter. Taric could have it for a time so later he could return him. Ezreal needed it to record this discovery in his journal before he departed from Demacia.

With the real map in his hands, Ezreal's heart bounced, excited at the great discovery. The adventurer smiled like a victorious prince.

Now more than ever, Ezreal could steal what finally will belong to his big collection of treasures of Runeterra.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you TradegyBunny for your patience and help with the chapter.
> 
> Since I introduced the characters in the last two chapters, this one will get more interesting. I loved writing this chapter and more is promised to bring.
> 
> I hope you are enjoying my story as I'm writing about it. Super excited.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter contains descriptions of violence, read at your caution.
> 
> Happy reading.

After several minutes of severe pain Taric left the cave. His wounded leg shivered as he stepped on the grass. He laid down next to a tree. Looking at his bleeding leg, he took off his cuisse. He moved his hands, grasping the knife stuck in his thigh.

Gripping its tang, as he took a deep breath, Taric wrenched it out. Blood splashed on his leg by the small opened wound. “Ahhh!” He shrieked.

Taking bandages from his belt, Taric bandaged his leg. Limping through the dense forest, he reached out to his horse. As the animal sensed his presence, it nuzzled his belly.

“How is our little friend?” Taric looked at the sleepy squirrel and the horse neighed. “Better take him to the Illuminator's Temple, he needs help.”

Mounting his horse, Taric rode back to the city, cradling the squirrel on his arms. Who was the man in the forest? Why did he hurt the squirrel? These questions popped out in Taric’s mind as he reached the Great city of Demacia. The commoners scattered before his pace, rounding a corner where a group of bakers carried on a cart fresh bread, he spotted a tall bright building beyond a group of houses.

A majestic construction shining in the bright light highlighted the massive blue cupola atop the building. Gentians surrounded the temple inside of a wing vase shape, welcoming any guest with a sweet, milky floral fragrance. Hobbling, Taric reached the white, massive archway. Atop of the lintel was carved with great detail a sculpture of an angelic figure descending to the mortal realms.

As Taric pushed the main door of the temple, occupying in the centre, carved white salt wings emerged from a massive door welcoming the faithful. Opening it, a long blue carpet with gold embroidery of circular and straight lines, guided Taric to the inner sanctum.

The woody and floral notes with hints of spice led Taric to the arched walls. Gentians held inside of a semi marble egg shape, surrounded by golden lines. Between them, the circular stained glass windows illuminated a small part of the temple.

While walking, Taric looked above his head. The golden chains held the goblet shape of a chandelier illuminating the congregation. 

A bright light from the massive cupola illuminated the sanctuary. Limping, Taric climbed up the white stairs. If he could find the High Priest, he would investigate the squirrel’s case.

The heavens had descended to the place. Taric’s soul carried a soft touch lighter than a feather and the clouds combined. He felt as a divine presence walked beside him, like a gentle breeze.

At the centre yet closer to the first line of the congregation, a lector stood out from the sanctuary. Atop a massive white book had, as an illustration, a humanoid figure with an aura surrounding her head.

Already inside the sanctuary, Taric searched around.

Ashes rested inside of braziers closer to the altar. The burned-out candles illuminated the religious books, placed closer to the silver chalice near the white plates and a jar.

The High Priest wasn’t anywhere to be found. Limping to the only door on the temple, Taric opened it.

Silence.

“Is anybody here?” He cried out in the corridor.

An acolyte approached. “Hello Sir Taric,” she joined her hands. ‘What seems to be the trouble?”

“Him.” Taric showed her the wounded squirrel. “Is Father Caius here?”

She nodded. “Wait in the sanctuary, please. He will be in a minute.”

“Tell him it’s urgent,” Taric said with an apprehensive tone.

“Will do,” bowing respectfully, the acolyte walked in the corridor.

Approaching the sanctuary Taric sat on the celebrant’s chair. As the minutes passed the door opened. The hunchback High Priest cloaked in white robes walked at a slow pace towards Taric.

As Taric turned to face Father Caius, the old man looked at the Knight’s arm covering the squirrel with his cape. “Bless you, Protector.” He blessed himself. “I thought you would bring another big beast. The last time you brought us one, the followers ran away. She could have lost faithful members.”

Taric laughed, approaching Father Caius. The old man laid his hand on the altar. “Now you are exaggerating, the last one wasn't that big.”

“Not big?” Father Caius looked at him with his narrowed small eyes. The wrinkles around his small, thin lips made him seem like a furious little man. “With all respect Sir Taric, the last beast was almost as big as that column.” He pointed.

Outside a bark echoed through the temple. That simple sound brough Taric to a sweet memory of a creature’s soft and dark fur, its small and gentle amber eyes and its paws.

“The first time I discovered them was memorable.” Taric embraced the squirrel on his arms. “It was daylight just like today, bright sky and clear clouds."

Father Caius sighed heavily, rolling his eyes at Taric. So, he insisted. “If you want to bring us animals to get our aid, please consider their size. Her home is not a shelter but a divine place and refuge to those who fall into sickness and poverty.”

“At first, she dug on the dirt and stretched her body. Then after howling, she stared at me.” Taric explained. “She growled at me but even so just the fact she gave me the privilege to witness a beautiful moment of her life—” He made a pause feeling his heart warming inside. He closed his eyes to visualise the moment in the forest. “She howled again, again and again. But suddenly from her belly came out slowly a small wolf pup, and then another, and another and finally the last one.”

Father Caius approached. “Sir Taric,” he coughed to attention. “You are here for that small creature, isn’t it?”

Taric blinked his eyes. “Sorry, my mind was wandering.” He said as he gingerly showed the wounded squirrel that opened its eyes. “And you are correct. This poor creature needs your aid. More than ever.”

Pulling off his hood, Father Caius leaned forward, observing the animal. The squirrel lowered its body, laying down his long tail. The squirrel wiggled its paws in Taric's palms as if the animal had an electric shock. As Father Caius righted his glasses, the squirrel ran over Taric's hand. He could feel the animal's little fingers touching his heel, feeling its soft fur on his skin.

Taric patted squirrel's back. “He is going to help you get better.”

The squirrel closed his eyes as Taric gently stroked his back. Then, after several minutes of feeling spoiled, the animal stretched its body to Father Caius. Moving closer, the old man examined the improvised bandages on the squirrel's paws.

“It's good you did this Sir Taric.” Father Caius held the animal's paws with care. “This little creature has been lucky to have stumbled across someone like you.”

“Is it bad?” Taric asked, concerned.

Father Caius shook his head. “This helped to stop the bleeding.” After he unrolled one of the bandages, the old man showed the injury of the dried blood on the animal’s paws.

“Could you please be so kind and take this burden for me?” Taric pleaded. “This is beyond my knowledge.”

“Your little friend will be fine. Come back later in the evening, as always.” As Father Caius turned, he noticed the Knight holding his thigh. “You need us to treat that wound.”

“If you could, please.” Taric nodded.

“Before that.” Father Caius looked at a statue. “Let me light a candle in Her name. You need to rest your leg.”

Taric shook his head. “Let me place the candle on your behalf.” He looked at the squirrel’s eyes which had to look puffed. “It’s for his sake, pain isn’t the issue.”

Father Caius smiled as he approached. “In that case, sit on my chair Sir Taric. With your leg in that condition, you will need something to support it.”

“Thank you very much,” Taric said, sitting on the celebrant’s chair.

With his slow pace, Father Caius walked to a door. From a significant height, Taric observed the shining lights fighting with each other in the congregation while he waited for the High Priest to return.

Minutes later Father Caius returned, bringing a pillow and a candle. Taric got up as the old man approached. They walked to the statue. Bending a little over, Father Caius tried to set the stool, yet his hands shivered. As the seat was about to fall, Taric righted it.

Father Caius smiled gratefully for his help lighting the candle. Then he gestured to Taric to kneel, giving him the torch. As he tried to kneel, needles of pain shot up his thigh. Taric clenched his teeth as he closed his eyes.

Father Caius held his shoulder. Despite Taric’s leg trembling, slowly, he kneeled, placing the candle at the statue's feet. Father Caius helped him to stand up.

“Come. We need to take care of your thigh.” Father Caius said, gesturing the Knight to follow him.

Both passed through the door. As they walked down the corridor, one of the doors was slightly ajar. Inside, angelic voices sang in great harmony, glorifying The Protector.

“Will they sing later?” Taric asked.

Father Caius nodded. “You are invited to attend the event if you like.”

Taric looked at the old man. “But of course! Who would miss magnificent music? Not me.”

After walking down corridors, Taric opened a door. The light coming from the stained glass illuminated the place. Father Caius signed for Taric to sit on the bed.

Uncovering the squirrel, the old man laid the animal next to Taric. At that second, the door opened. “Excuse me,” a lad with white robes came inside, “The Minister desires to speak with you now.”

Father Caius righted his glasses, looking at the young man. “You! Come here, lad.” The old man signaled the acolyte to approach.

“Yes?” The lad replied, in a shy tone lowering his head.

“For days, you have been pestering me to prove yourself.”

“That's true, Father Caius.”

“Well… here you have an opportunity. A Knight. A worthy man to have your care.” Father Caius folded his arms, impatiently.

“Y-yes!” The acolyte said with broken words, rubbing his fingers, to keep them from tumbling with another.

Father Caius sighed, rolling his eyes. “Lad! Move! Go grab your oils, herbs. Anything you think you should do in this situation!” He cried out.

“Y-yes! Immediately!” The acolyte lowered his head further. He glanced at the Knight like a frightened little animal. “In… in a minute, Sir!”

Taric nodded softly. “Take your time.”

The lad limited himself to nodding in respect. He looked at the old man. “What do you suggest to tell the Minister?”

Father Caius walked slowly towards the acolyte. “Tell her that your High Priest can't go right now. We have a wounded Knight to take care of.” Laying his hands on the lad's shoulders, he said “now.”

The acolyte nodded, closing the door gently behind them. Father Caius sighed, clenching his teeth. Rubbing his eyes constantly as if they were itching badly. He shook his head slowly.

“Is his first time?”

“No. He was trained well to do his duty, Sir Taric. He shouldn't behave like this, ever.”

“You have to encourage him more. All he needs is a little push, here and there.” Taric suggested.

“That's what I thought.” Father Caius nodded, sitting on the bed. “The lad is talented. He understands the basics, and once in a while, he sneaks out at the night to read more advanced medical books.”

After a couple of minutes, the acolyte returned, bringing with him a bowl with vinegar, wine, oil and fig leaves. Laying the bowl close to the Taric, the lad took the towels from the side table and the jar.

With everything aside, the acolyte carefully as possible took off the Taric's cuisse. Laying the piece of armour on the floor, the acolyte unrolled the bandages on Taric's thigh, inspecting the wound. The flesh opened as if it had been slashed by a knife. The blood spread messily on the leg by the flesh around the opening.

Taric observed the acolyte begging to mix oil with fig leaves in a small bowl.

“What happened?” Father Caius asked as the acolyte finished the mixture, cleaning the blood with a wet towel.

“Helping someone.”

The acolyte looked at the Knight. “This will be itchy, Sir.”

“Very well.” Taric nodded, glancing at the deep wound.

“Was it a barbarian? A ranger?” Father Caius asked as the acolyte applied the mixture to the wound.

Taric shook his head. “You probably know him—" Suddenly he felt his thigh burning like fire, he pressed his lips tight. But then after the irritating feeling, Taric felt as if his insides were going mad like he was in a fight. “Hm!” He groaned, moving his hands to hold his thigh.

“Uh… Sir?” The acolyte said as Taric glanced at him. “It's frustrating, but could you please take off your hands? If you keep doing that, your condition will get worse.”

Taric limited himself to nodding. Then he faced the old man. “Jarro Lightfeather. He was in Demacia's forest today.”

As Taric said the name, Father Caius frowned heavily as if he chewed rotten food. His pupils stared somewhere in the room as if Ezreal was present.

As the acolyte washed the wound with wine and fig leaves the old man confessed. “Since the first day he stepped on our territory, I believe our guards had to keep an eye on him.”

“Why?” Taric asked.

“This is not from me but,” Father Caius looked around as if someone lived in the walls, his ears able to listen to them. Then he faced the Knight. “Do you remember when he tried to uncover the death of the actress that plays a maiden with a lamb mask?” Taric nodded. “On that same day, according to a guard, after he finished the investigation, he was sneaking around the scene of the death.” Father Caius whispered. “The guards had to call him twice to not return to the place where an investigation was in process.”

“His curiosity brought him there, no doubt he will come back and try again,” Taric added, observing the acolyte rolling a new bandage on his thigh.

“You are mistaken, Sir Taric.” Father Caius shook his head. “Jarro is a criminal looking for trouble.” He looked at the acolyte that signed Taric to stand up. As the Knight obeyed, the lad put the cuisse back. “He is a mischievous and evil young man, nothing else.”

Taric opened his eyes widely. “Seriously?” He folded his arms as the acolyte finished the task. “He isn't that evil or mischievous. You have seen worse than that.” He twitched his lips, although a smirk escaped his mouth.

“Maybe, but he doesn't inspire trust.”

“But he does manage to cause trouble for adventure. And a good one nevertheless.”

Father Caius looked at Taric with his eyes opened like an owl’s. “Are you implying that you will do it as well?”

“Oh, yes. Always tempted.” Taric answered in a whimsical tone. “Imagine me walking in the streets, trespassing in forbidden places. Making the guards completely go mad, searching for something that isn't there. Only to discover red roses.”

“You wouldn't dare!”

“You doubt it?” Taric winked. “Then, after the amusing discovery, they will run after me shouting. ‘Ser Taric, how dare you do such a thing!’” Taric's voice became deep like a drunk in a tavern. Then he laid his hands on his waist in slow motion, moving his head smoothly to pull a little of his hair on his back. “In which I will respond. ‘But of course. It is just irresistible to stay in order. Sorry for my disobedience.’”

“Sir Taric!” Father Caius furrowed his eyebrows in protest, as his fragile lips lines twisted heavily. “If your father could listen to you just now, he would be ashamed!”

Taric laughed “Oh, my friend, what's life without a little laugher?” patting the priest's shoulders affably.

“Sir.” The acolyte approached Taric, with the towels dirty but with a pleasant smell in the bowl. “Today, you will have to rest. That ugly wound may open again—"

“Thank you for your concern,” Taric said in an amiable tone to the lad that nodded fast. “However, my duties take priority. Fragile lives need my protection.”

“Go wash that already.” Father Caius ordered, pointing to the door. “And you did well today. Good job, lad.”

The acolyte gazed at Taric, who nodded in an encouraging manner. The lad showed his teeth as his eyes glimmered like a shining turquoise. “Immediately.” The acolyte nodded in good spirits, walking to the door.

Father Caius waited for a little for the acolyte to shoot the bolts of the door. “What will you do about Jarro?”

Taric never expected Ezreal to behave the way he did. Why did Ezreal refuse his help? The anxiety made the situation worse when everything could have been settled? And he left Taric wounded when he helped him on his journey.

Father Caius looked at the Knight. His eyes bounced around in thoughts, as the old man laid his hand on Taric’s shoulder. “You are not thinking of helping Jarro, are you?”

“He deserves someone to guide him,” Taric answered, walking into the corridors. “Even though—"

Taric knew something or someone must be responsible for Ezreal’s growth. His experience dealing with this kind of people in the Illuminator’s temple, helped him to understand why they became the way they did.

“He left me reading this.” Taric looked upon Ezreal’s journal.

Father Caius. “Lad with all the respect, Jarro will never listen to you. Someone like him doesn't deserve your attention.”

The shining glimmer on Ezreal’s eyes, the joy of his lips while documenting his adventures had a beautiful look. Taric found himself, wanting time to meet him again and show how more dazzling Ezreal could become.

“Jarro is a beautiful person; he just doesn’t know that yet,” Taric said, adjusting his cape on his shoulders. “The answers are inside of his journal.”

With pressing matters to attend to, Taric left the place in search of the hunter responsible for hurting the flying squirrels. After passing some residential streets and shops, he crossed closer by the central fountain where marble soldiers were serving as columns, and laughing children splashed water at each other. The loud voices of merchants echoed through the place, as he edged on the crowd dashing to stall to another, selling a variety of products.

As Taric approached a stall, suddenly a familiar earthy smell rode the air. A spicy taste melted on his tongue; he could guess the aroma that reminded him of what he used to eat sometimes in the morning; porridge with cinnamon. And as he walked more; a crust malty and caramelised aroma filtered his nostrils. The crunchy touch on the wheat had a smooth sensation inside of his mouth, the same bread he used to eat each time dipping with olive oil and vinegar. Passing through more stalls, a salty aroma like coming from the seas floated through the place. The same one Taric used to notice while in the forest observing the rare creatures on rivers.

And finally, as he approached another stall, a bunch of colours invaded his sight; so vibrant and dynamic contrasting with others of their opposite nature. Sometimes plain with an earthy scent and in another stall, the colours mixed with another creating exotic or minimalist patterns on a rough texture. Reminding him of the carpets from the temples and houses.

As Taric approached the vegetable and fruit stall, someone tapped his shoulder. “Yes? Who is it?” He turned.

A hooded young man dressed in white spoke. “You must be Sir Taric.”

“That's correct.” Taric nodded. “And who am I having the pleasure to speak with?” He ran his fingers through his hair.

“A messenger, my lord.” The young man bowed respectfully. “Our lady wishes to summon you.”

“Do you know the reason?”

“Pardon me, Sir, but that detail belongs only to both of you alone.”

“Very well, you got my attention.” Taric nodded courteously. “Lead me to your lady.”

Both reached the noble's area. Butterflies and bees laid down on the gentians and narcissi’s petals, spreading the pollen on the air with a sweet fragrance. Each flower along with trees and grass organized in harmony, surrounded the marble benches, statues of soldiers, fancy fences and houses around the area like an artistic maze.

With such paradise, Taric wondered, maybe at night he would catch a glimpse of a rare nocturne creature.

Coming inside of the noble house, Taric followed the messenger upstairs. Passing through some corridors they reached the lady’s bedchamber. The sun light bursting through the window glimmered the carvings from the noble's canopy bed. The tester of an angel form opened its wings to cover with its bluish white veil. The soldiers on the columnar foot post held their weapons, ready to confront their enemy.

A woman glanced at the pile of books and sat on another closer to the stained-glass window, illuminated by a pair of candles closer to the shelf of the secretary. 

As she heard steps in her bedroom, the woman turned. She sat on the chair of a detailed eagle with golden laurels carved in steel, holding blue scales on its paws.

The messenger announced: “Sir Taric, it’s my honour to present you our lady from the house,” the young man approached, smiling graciously. “Lady Drusilla Spiritmight.”

Lady Drusilla looked at Taric as she tilted her head. She expressed a fragile closed smile, as the lines around her umber eyes highlighted her old age.

“Let me welcome you, Sir Taric. My humble house accepts your presence with open arms.”She extended her hand.

Approaching Taric held her fragile inflamed hand with care. “Thank you for inviting me to your place, lady Drusilla.” He kissed her hand.

“Yes, yes; and next you would say that you are grateful to have come here in your flourish way.” Lady Drusilla bobbed her head. “In which I would answer very noble like, no, no, the pleasure it’s all mine.”

Taric widened his eyes. “And…” he glanced at the messenger that gave him rolled eyes. “That’s true, my lady. I’m very grateful to be your guest.” He placed his hand on his chest area. “Let me tell your gardens are a delight. The smells, the colours—”

“And our butterflies, bees, dogs and cats as well.” Lady Drusilla added in protest. “Perhaps we should steal some pigs from the farmers and place them in the gardens for some fresh air.” She shook her head. “Ah Sir Taric, if only our gardeners could witness these lands before their times, they wouldn’t make so many silly mistakes. My father used to teach them the art of gardening, but today?” She grunted. “These incompetent baboons are only talented to flirt and kiss girls, or boys if they are so indulged too.”

Taric at first chuckled, but then he couldn’t resist, he had to cover his mouth to not allow himself to laugh harder.

The messenger approached. “My lady—"

“You lad!” Lady Drusilla pointed at the young man. “Where’s a servant when I need one?”

The messenger forced a smile. “In a minu—”

“Minute, second, hour… I need it now!” she shouted. “Where will Sir Taric sit his bloody ass? On the floor?”

Realising the messenger glanced at the door to leave, Taric approached. “It’s alright, you can go and bring a new chair.” He patted the young man’s shoulders. “And don’t be concerned with me. The company of your lady would be such fun.”

“Then you will find me less boring than the other houses.” Lady Drusilla addressed with confidence.

The messenger glanced at Taric in disbelief. “Yes Sir,” he walked to the door. “A servant would be at your disposal, my lady.” Shooting the door carefully.

Both waited for a while until the messenger’s steps disappeared in the stairs closer to the bedroom. Then Lady Drusilla got up from the chair. Around her wrinkled chubby face, she covered her smoky grey hair with a black veil. Her neck had a golden like necklace connected with her black dress with golden kite ornaments. Covering her chest area and shoulders, she wore a black toga with a fibula of Spiritmight family sigil, the same animal present on her secretary chair.

“Please, sir Taric sit on my chair while you wait for another one.” Lady Drusilla gestured to it.

“You are very kind, my lady.” Nodding, Taric sat on the chair as he observed the old lady.

Her massive body bounced as she moved her hands like a porcelain doll, yet her sausages legs limped towards her secretary. Reaching to the table she opened the shelves taking from inside two silver glasses. And next in another shelve, she tried to open the draws only to have to steady her hands on the table.

Taric got up immediately, “My lady, let me, give you a hand.” As he approached her.

Lady Drusilla shook her head. “No need your help, Sir Taric.” She gestured to him to sit, “I may be a fat old hag, but never a broken woman.”

“Just wanted to help you. No second intentions intended.” Taric responded in a soft manner.

“Your reputation is well known everyone, son.” After Lady Drusilla opened the drawer, she grabbed a bottle of wine. “The kindest man the Illuminators ever have. You never refused to help, never said no to their tasks and apparently you have dealt with old hags like me.”

“I wanted to serve my country with the best of my abilities.” Taric crossed one leg. “Is there wine you are serving?”

“Why? Do you dislike it?” Lady Drusilla filled the cups.

“Not at all.”

“So, your father told me.”

“My father?” Taric asked, curious.

Walking with extreme care, Lady Drusilla gave the glass of wine to Taric. Then smiling she said, “we discussed this morning. He said you are perfect for my problem at hand.”

Taric grabbed the glass. He noticed a little light red in the centre, fading out to a pink colour on the outside of the glass. He recognized it immediately to be Demacian red wine, especially old-style, by the oxidation in it.

He swirled the cup gently, putting his nose all the way down into the cup. A fresh aroma of red fruits crossed his senses, a mixture of cherries, grapes, raspberries and a little bit of tobacco. He took a quick sip, and swirled the liquid around in his mouth. Stewed red fruits reminded him of strawberry pie with crust.

“Lovely drink.” Taric praised it. “This indeed is the finest Demacian wine. My favourite!” And he took another small sip.

“There’s a good reason why my messenger came at my request to summon you here.” Lady Drusilla gave a small sip of her drink, witnessing Taric enjoying his own.

The door opened with a male servant bringing another chair.

“Ah! There’s your chair.” Lady Drusilla pointed to it. Then leaning forward a bit she addressed the servant. “Why did you take so long, boy?”

“My lady, your guards asked us too—” The servant tried to carry the chair without making any noise, only to make it the contrary.

“The guards, the guards!” Lady Drusilla interrupted the servant. “Next time you will take time for my breakfast because you are squeezing a servant’s breasts and licking her nipples?”

“For that my lady, perhaps you should consult the royal guards instead.” The servant placed the chair closer to her as Taric nodded to him. “You know perfectly well they love to predispose themselves to the nocturne activities.”

Taric moved his hand to his mouth. His eyes narrowed as a loud joyful chuckled heard in the room, then he lowered his tone. Silently he sat, holding his cup of wine tidily enough to not let it break on the floor. Giving a small sip he waited for the departure of the servant.

Then, after the servant’s steps couldn’t be hear any longer, he said. “So, you were saying that you summon me for an important matter.”

“Indeed, a troubling peril is upon my house.” Lady Drusilla gave a sip, holding her cup on her hand. “It's about my daughter.”

“Your daughter? What's the problem?” Taric asked, leaning forward.

“You see… she has three potential candidates for marriage.” Lady Drusilla gave another sip and made a pause for a while until she continued. “Each lad had potential; one was a hunter, the other a famous artist and the last one trained as a ranger.”

“They seem talented.” Taric gave another sip.

“Until they decide to put my dear daughter at risk.” Lady Drusilla faced Taric while whirling her cup. “She’s not to blame. My useless husband had the brilliant idea to invoke these three gentlemen, if they can be called such, to try and see who could be the suitable husband for her.”

“Maybe he had bad luck.” Taric suggested.

“Bad luck…” Lady Drusilla grunted. “In marriage there’s no such thing, Sir Taric. Or you choose the right husband or you choose a vile creature that will torment you.”

“But how did they begin to treat your daughter?” Taric asked.

“Let me start with the hunter.” Lady Drusilla made a pause as she drank more of her wine, then she continued. “He was following his family steps. And according to the Guild master the lad had high potential to be a great hunter.”

Taric observed Lady Drusilla. Her eyes had a certain emptiness on their orbits, as if she had taken some kind of drug, staring into nothing. Yet the wrinkles on her eyes denoted a peaceful touch. Her daughter’s dilemma occupied her mind no doubt, Taric thought.

Then Taric spoke in a calm tone. “Please, my lady, allow me to know the full story.”

Lady Drusilla took a quick sip, pausing for a while. Taking a soft breath as her eyes closed slowly. She moved her hands like a feather, holding tightly to her glass. Her lips remained in place as if she was holding for the right moment to confide Taric.

Perhaps she tried to find the right words? Maybe the truth was too disturbing for her to confess all of a sudden?

Taric waited for a while in hopes she would confide in him her daughter’s situation. And so, after a minute of silence Lady Drusilla opened her eyes.

“Please hear me out.” Lady Drusilla laid her glass on the desk. “The Hunter’s guild has a business with The King’s Crown tavern. The guild master confided me that everything was going well, in fact his men and women always did their job professionally. His business is one of the best food distributors in Demacia.” Joining her fingers as if she was praying, Lady Drusilla said. “All began when the owner ordered a wild boar for a wedding. Everything went well, as usual, discussing the price and the quality of the food.”

“So far things don’t seem out of the ordinary.” Taric remarked as he gave a sip, noticing his wine running out.

“Until now.” Lady Drusilla looked at Taric thoughtfully. “You see… the lad killed my youngest daughter; it was horrible Sir Taric.” She took a deep breath. “He had the audacity to expose her innocent body in plain streets to everyone to see!” Her voice although sounded in tears, her tone had an outrage and despaired touch.

“My condolences for your daughter, my lady.” Taric spoke in a down but affable tone, laying his cup on the secretary. “Feel free to stop when your grieve is too much to endure.”

Lady Drusilla held Taric’s hands. “Very recently this young fellow sent to my daughter a letter, threatening to kill her if she confides with the king and the authorities.” Then she glanced at Taric, “but the most disturbing is the content inside of the letter.”

“What was inside?” Taric asked as he approached to comfort her.

Lady Drusilla shared no tear towards her face in thirst for solitude. Instead her piercing stare enlarged like a predator, and her sealed lips remained in place.

Despite Taric stiffened in her look, he understood why she had to become sharp. After her youngest daughter’s death Lady Drusilla had to hide her emotions from the eyes of the others. So, to not show weakness she mastered the cold expression of a mother in grief who loved her daughter, protecting her children at any costs. That sign of love made Taric more empathetic to help them.

Taric robbed her back with care. “If what you saw is too much for you, don’t speak about it.”

“Your father told me your affinity for animals.”

“He is correct.”

“What the lad sent me, what my eyes witnessed… you are correct Sir Taric, I wouldn’t dare to show you. Because if you see it would break your heart even more.”

Her fingers fidgeted as Taric robbed them for comfort. “You are safe, my lady.” He said calmly. “Everything is going to be alright. Let my protection be your shield.”

After the care Taric provided for her, Lady Drusilla took a heavy breath and said. “In the letter he wrote to kill my daughter in the same way he did to the squirrel.” She finally confessed. “If we can’t reach no one in this city, my last hope is you.”

Squirrels, the hunter… there was only one person that came to his mind, the same lad he saw this morning hurting a caged squirrel. Taric wondered if the same hunter could be him.

“I may have come across him this morning.” Taric said. “Do you know why he threatened her?”

“He wants vengeance because the marriage didn’t go as he planned.” Lady Drusilla answered. “And all this because of my stupid husband! That fat man that had only brains for flowers and sweet talk.” She protested.

“Easy my lady. You came to me for help to fix this problem.” He patted her shoulder carefully as possible. “Now, if you feel comfortable, can you describe the young man that’s troubling your daughter?”

Lady Drusilla made a pause to grab her drink, then she said. “The lad is like every average Demacian young man, brown eyes and hair. Strangely enough he is a slim kid for a hunter, or so the Guild master told me.”

“Anything else you would like to tell me? A location would be ideally, especially his home or hideout.” Taric appealed.

“According to the guild master’s information, you should look for his home in the district closer to the farm area. That should be the lad’s place.” Lady Drusilla added as she finished her drink. “If you could bring the young man without creating a fuss, our house would be pleased with your aid, Sir Taric.”

Taric straightened his posture. “It would be my pleasure to make sure your daughter is safe, and your heart rests in peacefully.”

Lady Drusilla smiled blissfully. “We are pleased to hear that.” She got up. “When you finish your task, please return the lad here. What we decide to do with him, will be judged according to our laws.” She extended her hand.

Taric got up. “The young man will come back unharmed.” He kissed her hand.

Lady Drusilla gave her arm to him. “Allow me, Sir Taric to accompany you to the door.”

Taric nodded. “As you wish, my lady.”

Leaving the place, Taric looked at the sky. The bright blue faded into darkness and the stars began to shine. Even with his stomach roaring furiously like a hungry lion, he couldn't go back to a tavern and have his meal calmly while someone had intentions of killing defenceless lives.

Following the indications, Taric reached the residential area. The light coming from the houses transform the folks into silhouettes, however the emptiness and silence in the streets made the place feel like a ghost town.

Guards patrolled the place, and by their eyes slightly closed and frowns on their faces, it was going to be a long, tedious night. They knew their fate would be catching thieves and burglars.

As Taric kept looking around him on the narrow street, he noticed a house without light. Looking around the house, he spotted a little reddish fur on the window sill. Grabbing it, he saw fresh blood on the animal's fur. At first, he tried to look for a clue related to the squirrel but found himself looking through on the dark window.

“What are you doing? Trying to sneak into my house!”

The voice came from behind him as something sharp touched Taric's neck. “Trying to find out if the owner has arrived.”

“You must be a patrolling guard!” The voice said agitatedly, trying to sound threatening. “Do they break into people's houses nowadays? Our king has lost his mind?”

Calmly, as if he wasn't in any danger, Taric turned to face the voice. “Do I look like a guard?”

The young man matched the description provided by Lady Drusilla, and by the same young man Taric saw this morning. Their long dark cape along with ragged clothing and barefoot.

The young hunter laid his knife in his pocket. Although he had slim features with his skin sucked in bones, his neck seemed swollen. He began to scratch on it with his bloody fingers, little wounds formed on his tanned skin.

“You look like a Countless Vanguard Knight, which is even worse.” The young hunter began to scratch his neck violently with his bloody fingers, little wounds formed on his tanned skin. “And a stranger that wanted to be in my house for some reason.”

As the young hunter scratched more, more, and more, Taric noticed a violet vein. “You are not to blame to sound defensive, it's understandable.” He said smoothly. “My apologies for the intrusion, but there's an important issue to be discussed. We don't need blood on our hands.”

Taric noticed the lad’s belt with little squirrel paws, dangling in unnatural angles. Taric’s eyes widened. The silence in the street was replaced with trap metal sounds penetrating the poor animal’s paws. Agonising pitchy cries occupied the air like raven claws scratching on glass. Taric’s eyes squinched with pain; he despaired as if he had lost a dear friend.

“Oh! So that's why you are here.” The young hunter asserted, realising the Knight’s intent. “She must have sent you.” His eyes stretched widely open, as his thin lips enlarged a monstrous grin.

The freezing wind passed through the place as the guards’ steps vanished in the dark. The silence muffled the air like a thief in the night. Taric felt a strong presence as if dangerous eyes peered at him in the shadows. He lifted his head as his gentle eyes remained vigilant, while taming his tough body he popped out his chest.

The young hunter stared at Taric slowly, as his pupils studied the strong Knight’s posture up and down. “No. there's nothing to discuss, unless it pleases you.” He opened the door. “Come in.”

Taric smiled. “After you.” He gestured.

Taric stepped inside after the young hunter. The strong odour of rotten flesh filled the air along with dust. As the young hunter lit a torch, Taric’s heart fell on the ground, bleeding in agony. His eyes glittered with unleashed tears.

The splashed blood painted the white walls and the cold ground. Drops of blood came from a squirrel, staring at Taric as its body convulsed and twitched. Its dehydrated skin had dark bruises spread on the body. Its belly savagely opened, showing the squirrel’s organs spilt out on the ground.

 _How can this young man do this? To these beautiful creatures? This isn’t right!_ Taric approached in an attempt to try to save the animal. As he got closer, the squirrel’s body deformed like a contortionist as he grasped his last breath. The macabre place revealed to Taric the tragedy of bodies of flying squirrels hung from the ceiling.

“You see Knight,” the young man said with a thrill in his tone. “This happens when a promise is broken. And you are left with nothing but survival.”

Taric ignored the young hunter as he spotted a live flying squirrel among the dead ones. Its body squirmed at an abnormal speed as if having a long seizure, like an abandoned terrified puppy. As Taric rushed to its aid, the young hunter grabbed his knife and moved to stab Taric.

By the reflection of the window, Taric caught the young hunter ready to strike him. Taric struck the young hunter hard with his arm. The lad rolled on the ground groaning in severe pain.

Reaching for the animal, Taric took off his rope as the squirrel felt on his hands. He took his cape off and covered the animal, patting with care.

With care Taric moved the squirrel’s chest to his ears, he could hear faintly its heart pacing. He smiled relieved. “It’s alright. I will protect you.”

Taric turned to face the young hunter crawling and moving his fingers like a worm. “If you tell me your side of the story, it would highlight me about your life.” Taric spoke in a soft tone.

And, despite all the violence and all the despicable acts he caused to the animals and the threat towards Lady’s Drusilla’s daughter, Taric found it cruel to leave the young man suffering. Laying the squirrel closer to him, Taric grabbed the young hunter’s arm. The lad raised a bewildered eyebrow at the Knight, as he gritted his teeth and made himself stand up.

“I know you are connected with the Spiritmight family.” Taric addressed, as he walked with the young hunter to a chair, and time at time glancing at the young hunter. “You said a broken promise. Please tell me what they have done to you.”

“What have they done to me? Many things Knight, and one of them was an empty promise full of fulfilment and prosperity.” The young hunter spoke as if the words came like needles on his lips.

“Can you elaborate?”

“What will I receive for such information? Your empathy?”

“Better than an empty promise.”

“She sent you which means that old wench wants to see me—”

“Can’t you understand why?” Taric asked. “You killed her youngest daughter and threatened to kill her older one. If you were a father you would defend your children as well, don’t you agree?"

The young hunter laughed “Me? Defend them? Before the others could do anything to my “children”, I would murder them instead.” He pointed to the dead squirrels. “The same way as these stupid creatures died, it would be the same fate my “children” would face.”

Taric desired to cry of such malice coming from this young man. Why so much hate when he was the one who started this mess? Yet as he spoke about an empty promise full of fulfilment and happiness, he wasn’t lying either. That made Taric wonder what Lady Drusilla didn’t tell him. What her family had done to make this young hunter going mad.

But the lad didn’t seem to elaborate further as well. So Taric left it alone and he would try to reach the young hunter’s humanity.

“If others don’t see the positive in you, then I will.” Taric said in an encouraging tone. “There is still time to mend your life. Don’t give up. I will be with you until the end.”

“But what if I don't want to fix it?”

“You say that because the only reason stopping you is your obsession with what the Spiritmight family has done to you. Don’t allow hate to consume you.”

The lad burst, laughing like a maniac. “Really? Is this your best to encourage me to fix my life?” He hit the hands on the ground. “My life can’t be returned back, not now that I found my purpose! Yes… my real purpose.” He faced Taric. “Tell me what you would prefer to be called, a fool or a clown?”

“We can talk about your purpose in life.” Taric nodded. “You are young and your life is precious. Lady Drusilla told me you once worked at the Hunter’s Guild. You could still be there and help your comrades, plus feed those who defend our kingdom.” Taric explained in a soft tone. “You guys are needed. You make the difference, more than you can imagine. Without your help, Demacia forces, our ruler, and the people of the city and farms will starve.”

The lad curled his lips corners large enough to show his teeth. His focused eyes on Taric, staring intensely, waiting to catch him off guard.

Taric continued. “Tell me something you would like to do instead.” Taric looked at the young hunter. “Tell me what you love the most.”

The young hunter moved his hands to his belt like a mage casting a spell. “Murder.”

“That’s not true, isn’t it? You have something more beautiful inside, everybody does.” Taric said in a gentle tone. “Let me help you discover the other charming side of yourself. You will not regret.”

On that moment the young hunter distorted his eyes in a silly and comical way. Moving his fingers, he mimicked the same gestures as the Knight as he was speaking in mockery of Taric.

“Are you finished? Because I'm getting bored.” The young hunter asked as he scratched his neck.

“Stop!” Taric said, realising the lad's neck was begging to bleed.

“This doesn't hurt, Knight.” The young hunter scratched deeper on the vein.

As the lad's nails penetrated deeper into the flesh the wound enlarged. The blood travelled on lad’s neck like a furious river. And, despite the bleeding the young hunter’s pupils shone like any normal human eye, yet there was nothing inside. Not even a teardrop or a sorrowful movement of his eyebrows.

_This seems a lost case but I must keep trying!_

“Nothing to say, huh?” The lad grinned in an attempt to scorn Taric. He pointed his dagger at a nearby squirrel. “That thing will be hurt… badly. It will feel my blade like that whore of a noble she is.”

“You don’t have to be like this.” Taric said. “Your life can be different. You can change!”

The air became heavy and dark as if all the stars in the sky had been destroyed. They stared at each other, waiting for one another to make their first move. Observing the young hunter, Taric noticed him grabbing his dagger and sword. His fingers fidgeted in movements like agitated waves, squeezing hard his palms to hurt themselves on purpose.

Taric titled his shield forward as he grasped his hammer firmly. Both moved aside to try to catch a weakness although Taric decided to not move as much, trying to protect the squirrel.

Realising the Knight's tactic, the lad grinned. “Oh? Defending a stupid creature?” He tried again to ridicule Taric in an attempt to make him vulnerable. However, Taric didn’t move from his position. His calm eyes kept wondering on the young hunter’s hands, twitching impulsively.

“I am the champion of life. All life matters to me, even yours.” Taric said confidently. “So please drop your weapons and let’s discuss peacefully. We don’t need to fight.” 

The young hunter sprinted towards Taric as he moved his sword in an attempt to hurt the Knight's thighs, however, Taric swept his hammer low to knock away the incoming attack. The blade clashed on one other's weapons with anger. Both faced each other eye to eye.

The lad’s corner lip moved widely up in an impudent manner. He stepped back and swapped his sword towards the Knight. Taric moved his hammer upwards. At that moment the young hunter moved his dagger against the Taric’s hurt thigh.

Taric protected himself with his shield. The young hunter lost his balance as Taric bashed him with his hammer. The lad collapsed on his knees, groaning with severe pain.

The young hunter looked at Taric. His attention placed between the lad and his weapons, as if Taric knew the young hunter would try to run away. Even so the young hunter tried to grab his weapons desperately; yet Taric rolled them aside.

The young hunter narrowed his eyes as his eyebrows pushed down. His lips moved forcefully. “So, what now? You captured me. Congratulations.”

Looking around to find a way to tie the young man, Taric glanced at the only thing available to the task; the rope from a skinned alive squirrel and currently on death’s door. He shook his head, as he swift his attention to his cape that protected the animal, but it was far away from his reach. Taric couldn’t risk such a move, because he knew the hunter wanted an opportunity to kill him and escape, otherwise, Taric will be a witness to his crimes.

“Not much of a talker now?” The young hunter mocked him. “The others will hear that I silenced a Knight.”

With pain in his heart, Taric gently untied a dead animal, and laid him on the ground. “You will take me to her, wouldn’t you?” The young hunter said as Taric tied up his hands. “What has she told you? To bring to me back to that torture chamber?”

“Lady Drusilla wants me to bring you to her house.” Taric approached the young hunter on the floor. “It was our deal to bring you unharmed and I intend to keep it that way.”

“Ah! That old wench and her schemes.” The young hunter said. “Finally, she decided to come out of her shell, huh?”

“If you are implying, she is evil than you are wrong.” Taric shook his head. “Whatever they have done to you, forgive them and give your life a second chance; instead of living it in revenge and malice.”

In that same instant, the silence occupied the room like an uninvited. The room shook in fury with violent noises coming from nearby objects. Startled the squirrel on the cape got up and ran outside of the house.

“What? Giving up after all this time?” The young hunter shook his head. “What makes you think things will chance? “Do you truly believe she will make me better? That everything I have accomplished will be forgotten?”

Suddenly the young hunter and Taric gasped a soft but cold breath. Even in full plate armour, Taric’s skin turned into spikes, he shivered. He cringed his teeth as if he was chewing ice.

“If they don’t forgive you, then I believe you can.” Taric spoke in a calm tone. “You can redeem yourself. All you need to do is to realise how life is beautiful. If you don’t know where to start, let me guide you.”

“How kind of you, Knight,” the young hunter said in a broken but slow tone. He hugged himself. “But that wouldn’t work, for my amusement.”

Taric had to decide what he would do. If he brings the young hunter to Lady Drusilla, he would be brought to justice according to Demacian laws. And he knew his country’s severe and harsh jurisprudence wouldn’t be pretty for the young hunter. He would suffer for the rest of his life, and possibility leaving on an ugly mark on his life. Many, as Taric had heard from his friend Garen, lost a leg or two, or even hands. With this Taric could be assured no more delicate lives would suffer, and deserved nothing more than to be left in peace.

Yet Taric could still persist with the young hunter to see his wrongs, and find his beautiful spot inside him. This wasn’t his first time dealing with people like this. How many times he witnessed the victory and the fall of those who crossed his path? And those who failed, Taric wished they could have redeemed themselves for their own good.

Because the last thing Taric desired was to kill the young man. That alone would hurt him the most.

“So, how will I die?” the young hunter asked.

“You will not die.” Taric answered. “You will come with me, for a safe place where you will see your grace shining.”

The young hunter laughed. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Taric glanced at the young hunter. “Believe me, at the end you will become a better person.”

For a moment, silence spoke in the room, as if the cold had taken the Knight's and the young hunter's voices out of their throats.

“Before I take you to the place let me ask you something.”

“And after that comes the torture. My favourite part!”

“You said you found your purpose in life. How? Alone? With company?”

“Someone or thing helped me. No idea what or who was, only one thing was clear: his voice.” The young hunter observed Taric tidying the ropes on his hands. “He sounded much like my father—"

“A good father would never encourage murdered, but to preserve life.” Then Taric approached the young hunter’s legs. “Don’t listen to that man or creature. He is trying to deceive you—"

“On the contrary; he made me see my true purpose.” The young hunter cut off the Knight.

“Can you describe him for me?” Taric asked, tiding next the young hunter’s legs.

“No.” The lad said. “There's nothing to describe. Only his truthful voice of reason and wisdom.”

Taric observed the young hunter on his arms. His relaxed facial muscles reminded Taric of the farmers from the country, the joyful and simple life. The young hunters’ eyes glimmered in a disturbing manner, as his lips grasped a malicious smile.

Taric recalled the lad’s voice tone. It wasn’t shattered with fear, rather it resembled determination and honesty. He made his choice of listening to whatever the creature or man told him to do. Taric found it queer since the young hunter had an opportunity to lie. Yet at same time he was grateful for such honesty coming from a lost young man.

“Where are you taking me?” The young hunter asked, as he felt Taric lifting him on his massive arms.

“To the Illuminator’s temple.” Taric looked to the opened entrance of the building.

“You know you are leading me to do another bloodbath, right, Knight?” The young man addressed.

“That will not happen.” Taric walked with heavy steps.

Taric’s skin paralyzed by the cold that travelled on his body. His numb fingers felt like ants marching on his flesh taking all feelings with them.

Hobbling through the place, Taric’s heavy march felt weighty on his feet as if a rope tied his legs. He gasped as his heart raced, he tried to give another step.

The frigid air penetrated his nostrils, clogging his lungs. He glanced around as he pushed harder all the muscles of his body. A sensation like hands squeezing his throat limited him to breath in the room. His foggy vision allowed him seeing nothing more than darkness.

Yet Taric pushed harder, harder and harder as he reached almost the main entrance. Laying the young hunter on the ground he pushed outside.

Taric fell on his knees and once again he moved forward. His body fell like swords penetrating his flesh. His legs shivered at each step Taric made a movement on the floor, even moving his arms and torso seemed like multiple corpses piled on his back.

Exhausted and in pain, Taric moved his arms, scratching his fingers on the cold floor of the house. He moved one arm, slowly and another as his legs no longer responded to his commands. He pushed his arms harder until his fingers touched the cold pavement of the streets.

Finally out, Taric gasped heavily as a little air filled his plums. His legs and arms twisted as he felt his muscles moving again.

Grabbing the young hunter Taric rushed to the temple, watching the light inside flickering weakly. Sprinting to the entrance he bashed to the congregation, opening the door to the corridor.

An acolyte approached. “Sir Taric, what’s the matter?” She glanced at the young hunter. “Why did you bring him here?”

“Please call Father Caius. We have a delicate situation.” Taric spoke slowly as he tried to recover his breath.

“Of course.” The acolyte nodded as she pointed to a door nearby. “Rest there and master will come to help you.”

Obeying her, Taric laid the young hunter on the bed.

The young hunter laughed. “Are you thinking of exorcising me?”

“Not me, but if the High Priest finds that solution to be the best, then you will.” Taric sat next to him.

On that instant the door opened. Father Caius rushed inside accompanied with several acolytes that brought the symbol of the Protector, the holy book, incense, holy water and a small bottle.

Taric glanced at Father Caius with a big frown on his face. His eyes stared at the young man like he was the most dangerous criminal on Runeterra. As he approached, he curled his lip.

“Glad you are here.” Taric said relieved. “This young man needs to be encouraged to follow a good path. I tried to make him see the wonders of life, but he wouldn’t listen to me.” He explained.

Righting his glasses, Father Caius approached the young hunter. The lad moved his torso forward, shaking his head with violence. Then he stared as Father Caius was getting closer to examine him. As the old man got closer, the hunter opened his mouth. He moved his head to seize the High Priest with his teeth. In a flash, Taric pushed aside the old man.

With Taric’s help, Father Caius grabbed a bed’s footboard. “He will be exorcised.”

Taric glanced at the young man with his huge grin. “Do you really think this is the right course of action?”

Father Caius sighed heavily. “Sir Taric, this young man almost bitten me!” He pointed to the young hunter. “He could have injured me if it wasn’t for your help.”

“I don’t deny it, but that doesn’t mean he has a demon inside him!” Taric said. “He just needs a guidance to his life, someone to teach him—”

Father Caius placed his hand on Taric’s shoulders. “Sir Taric, your aid with the sick has been a huge help to our community, believe me. We, no, the Protector, thanks from her heart what you have done all these years.” He glanced at the young hunter mimicking with his mouth the same thing as the old man. Then the High Priest faced Taric. “You faced these people before, I know. But in this case the lad needs a higher presence, only the most experienced ones can be inside the room.”

“We have been in these situations before, and patients have shown progress. This could be the same case.” Taric addressed it as if he found strange all the situation. “So please can you explain to me why this time I can’t stay with you?”

“But of course, Sir Taric. It will be insincere on my part if you stay in the dark.” Father Caius nodded. “This is the case we call the high risk, especially for us that would perform the ritual. And before you can protest to stay, you are also at high risk.” He paused to cough and then he continued. “If you die, we will have no one to defend us when the demon materialises in our world. If that happens you must stay safe and ready to fight to defend us.”

Taric paused to reflect. He had assisted sometimes in some exorcisms, and when he did his place on the temple affected those around him, mostly positively. And when the situation got out of hand, he would seek others in need, leaving Father Caius and his acolyte to the care of the possessed one.

All this situation seemed to go in that direction, yet… Taric felt a compelling force, whispering on his ear to stay and encourage the young hunter for a change of heart. Yet Father Caius as far as Taric could remember never disappointed him, and being the most knowledgeable man of the community, his experience would be a great help.

Although Taric felt in disagreement with the old man, he couldn’t force him to allow him to stay either. So Taric nodded and said. “I still don’t agree to stay far away from this young man, but if that’s what you think is right, I’m more than welcomed to help you.”

Father Caius smiled. “Thank you for understanding the situation, son. Believe me, this brings me no joy but has to be done.”

Taric approached the young hunter that stared at him in mockery. “What do you need me to do?”

Father Caius gestured three of his acolytes carrying the sacred objects. Then the old man said, “Please, can you tie his legs and hands? This is for prevention in the case the demon is strong.”

Taric nodded as he got closer to the young hunter as four acolytes approached with ropes on their hands. The lad rolled his body to meet the floor, however Taric caught him in time. He turned the young hunter’s body, facing his back.

Untying his hands, Taric grabbed the wrists of the young hunter and pushed him to the edges of the bed effortlessly. The young hunter shook his head violently in an attempt to free himself, beginning to mumble in a deep hysterical tone. After that the acolytes tied the lad as Taric kept pressing his hands.

“You will be alright.” Taric encouraged the young hunter that tried to fight for his freedom. “The demon inside you will disappear. You will be free from his delusions.”

After the acolytes finished with the hands, Taric moved to the young hunter’s feet. The lad pushed hard to hurt the Knight back; however, his effort didn’t seem enough to stop Taric to grab his feet together. The acolytes began to tie him.

The four acolytes with the objects approached the young hunter as the others stepped back. Father Caius said. “You can go now, Sir Taric. Leave this young man to us. The Protector will guide us to purify his soul.”

“Please do everything you can but don’t hurt him.” Taric pleaded to the old man that nodded at his request.

Taric glanced at the young hunter under his shoulders. The lad moved his body up and down, twisting violently his bonds. He cocked his head, mumbling, screaming loudly with all his vocals cords until he couldn’t anymore. His voice had a deep and distorted touch almost as if his lips burned.

Taric turned. Watching the young hunter in such a situation made Taric’s heart break. He rested his hand on his breastplate, pressing hard with his fingers. Closing his eyes forcefully, he could feel darkness sinking deep in him like a hungry demon searching for a vessel to possess.

Then, as Taric opened his eyes, silence occupied the room. Approaching to comfort the young hunter, Father Caius rested his hand on Taric’s shoulder. “Pray his soul will change during the exorcism.”

It took time for Taric to walk to the entrance and when he did the young hunter finally spoke, laughing in a scornful tone.

“You made a terrible mistake, oooh yes you did.”

“Open the page 340,” Father Caius ordered.

“Yes, Father.” The acolyte lifted several pages as the lad with candles places each on the bed’s edges floor.

As Taric opened the door the young hunter continued. “You should have brought me to the old wench instead. She would be more merciful than these vicious wolves dressed as sheep.”

Taric turned as something on his gut told him to stay still in the room, yet Father Caius patted his shoulder. “Came back in a minute— ah! And speaking of such, seek your small friend in my office. He has been agitated all day.”

Walking in the corridors, some acolytes dressed in a long white robe and a symbol of a six-point star, greet him. Taric reached the high priest office.

Despite the small space, everything was tidy. On the wall behind the secretary, a large picture of a man with the same white robes as the High Priest. Even though his face couldn't be seen clearly, looking at his eyes Taric felt the same gentle presence as was found in the temple. At the same time however, his heart sank deep into the darkness. It must have been the founder of the organization Taric though. He wondered how much as the man had seen his life, suffering, death, desperation but also love, compassion and hope.

On the secretary full of scrolls rested the squirrel with new bandages, sleeping on Taric's cape. As he came inside, the animal's ears twitched by his approach.

Taric took the animal in his hands, feeling on his strong rectangular cheeks its tiny fingers. As he laid his cape on his arms, the squirrel rolled back to its sleep.

Looking at the table Taric noticed a note. He read:

We could help the little fellow, although, not completely. In three or four days it will be healed. We managed its fingers but unfortunately, your friend lost its arboreal highways. Sorry about the bad news.

A feeling of guilt and remorse crossed Taric's heart. The image of the animal in the cage didn't leave his mind. How painful it must have been for the squirrel to suffer such a cruel fate? Why did it have to go through that trauma? With this Taric would show to the young hunter the good he could mend in his life. With this idea in mind Taric returned to the door.

As he approached the door, three acolytes stayed vigilant as Taric could hear muffled voices from the door. The exorcism was still in process, he thought, so he decided to wait until it was done.

After almost an hour the young hunter screamed loudly.

“Argh! It burns! It burns!”

“What are you doing!” Taric rushed to the door handle. “You are hurting him—”

“Unfortunately, Father Caius found it necessary to use a strong exorcism. The young man had too much darkness and violence in his heart.” An acolyte explained.

On that moment silence crossed the corridors and the door inside.

Taric paused. Strong exorcism? For a second that didn’t sound right, not because the technique had the wrong name… almost as if what happened inside wasn’t an exorcism at all. Could it be possible Father Caius lied to him? That idea made no sense, why would the old man do such a thing to someone that volunteered to help him?

Taric shook his head of such ridiculous thought. Father Caius had shown him countless times his kindness and empathy for all who crossed in his temple. It wouldn’t be now the old man would change his heart for the wrong side of his nature.

Yet the acolyte’s voice had a croaky tone, as he explained what the method used to the young hunter. With that in mind Taric couldn’t determine both realities, so he decided to see for himself.

Inside the room the acolytes were rolling to the young hunter with a white cloth. Father Caius closed the door in a slow motion as Taric rushed to the young man. One of the acolytes tried to shop him but the old man shook his head, leaving the Knight to see after the event.

As Taric looked at the young hunter’s body, he remembered what he said before Taric left the room: “You made a terrible mistake”, “You should have brought me to the old wench instead. She would be more merciful than these vicious wolves dressed as sheep.”

As Taric tried to process some thought he felt Father Caius’ fingers touching his shoulder. “You said for us to not hurt him, but believe me son, there was no other way.” The High Priest spoke in a calm tone.

“He didn’t need all of this!”

“He didn’t resist Her divine judgment.” Father Caius explained. “And you know the Protect doesn’t forgive those who do wicked actions.”

Taric sat next to the young hunter. “I should have been here during the exorcism.” He said. “With that he could have changed! He could—”

Even if the lad had some madness in him, Taric wished this encounter could have been different. Perhaps he should have brought him to Lady Drusilla? Or maybe Taric should have found another place, far away from Demacia?

“How could he?” Father Caius asked as he signed the other acolytes to leave. With a respectful nod, they left the room. “His heart was full of hate for everyone and everything.” He glanced at the squirrel sleeping on Taric’s arms. “He was the one who tried to kill your small friend. After what just happened you can’t just forgive him for that! You are a Knight, son. You have your honour and responsibilities towards those who fall into evil.”

Taric looked at the squirrel. The macabre event came to his memory as he remembered what the lad was wearing, ragged clothes and fare foot. That simple image made sense. All the twisted story between his family and the Siritmight family. Why he was so violent. All the taking of the fragile lives to survive even though Taric found it cruel. How he easily allowed himself to be manipulated by someone or something to make him believe murder to be his destiny.

Taric remembered everyone he encountered in this temple before. How many committed crimes in the name of poverty? This could be the case of the young hunter. After what happened between him and Lady Drusilla, the young man had no choice but to survive, and he found comfort on violence and murder. And his obsession of vengeance blinded him to shine like a star in his beautiful life.

Taric pated the squirrel’s back. “Life is a mystery.”

Father Caius raised his eyebrow. “Beg your pardon, Sir Taric? You aren’t making any sense.”

“To wonder what would happen to you.” Taric smiled gracefully. “Small events can shape you, change your perception on things.”

Father Caius frowned hard as he opened his mouth to protest, but he closed again as he decided to cross his arms instead to listen more of what Taric had to say.

Taric gazed at the dead young hunter. “I forgive you, even if what you have done is unforgiven.” He said as he glanced around until his eyes spotted a jar with white flowers. Grabbing them he placed them on the young hunter’s chest.

Then he got up, approaching the High Priest. “It’s a shame he died, but pray She will grant him peace and open his heart for good.”

Father Caius shook his head as a defeated sigh blew from his mouth. “A criminal doesn’t deserve forgiveness, Sir Taric. She wouldn’t be benevolent towards his soul.” Then he scanned the Knight. “You look miserable.”

“Not miserable as those outside in the cold,” Taric answered observantly. “Don’t concern yourself with me, Father Caius.”

“Still, even the bravest Knight must have his time to rest.” Father Caius said, opening the door. “Let me give you something to fill your stomach.”

After passing through from an arch, they reached a small place. An overweight lady was lighting the candles in the middle of the table.

As she realised their presence, she walked to a door next to a blue banner with a half-star symbol, on the white walls. After Taric waited for a couple of minutes, the lady came with a bowl on a tray.

It wasn’t the most elaborate presentation as he was used on the tavern, although Taric knew this place wasn't for royalty.

Father Caius smiled. “Enjoy your meal.”

In silence, Taric wolfed his meal and after he finished, he asked for a second round as he could feel his stomach roaring with vigour. When he finally finished both walked to the temple.

Some people were inside sitting on the benches. Not just soldiers or generals but merchants and common folk, the majority of the poor people.

The Protector’s statue was surrounded with daisies at her feet, far away from all the candles, which some people laid out. Taric sat on a bench, laying the animal on his thighs. _Sadly, you lost your ability to fly, but now you are safe._

Father Caius sat on a bench close to a mother with her four children. When they saw him, they tried to mess with his white ropes. However, their mother, her face painted of red, pulling their belts in an attempt to control their behaviour. After all, they were in the presence of their Guardian.

Father Caius kindly shook his head, gesturing for her to leave her children to wander the place before the service started. The mother lowered her head, as her body shivered, a sinner ready to confess her crimes. The old man patted her shoulder gently, listening to her laments.

As Taric opened Ezreal's journal, the acolyte finished the arrangements in the temple. Another group of more walked to the altar. In that instant, all the noises coming from the people vanished like the wind. Those who sought to contemplate Her grace sat in silence.

 _Life is a beauty that none of us will ever understand._ Taric patted the sleepy squirrel's fur gingerly. Organising behind the altar, the acolytes soon started singing.

 _As a champion of life, my curiosity will never end to understand this grace. My soul will commit to research any meaning of it._ In harmony with the angelic voices glorifying the Protector, Taric began reading Ezreal’s journal.

_This is my oath._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a lot, TradegyBunny for your help. You rock!
> 
> This chapter took a heavy round and more will come. As usual, I hope you enjoy the character's journey as I am exploring it.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter contains poor hygiene conditions, prison abuse, and attempt of sexual assault. Read at your caution.

After walking in the vast vegetation for half an hour, Ezreal reached Demacia. He glanced at the silhouettes inside of the houses, moving around to lighting their candles. Noises came from the folks shutting their doors or closing the windows curtains. The heavy steps on the marble came from patrolling guards, looking for anyone that could cause trouble.

Reaching the market place, merchants packed up their merchandise and dismantled their stalks for the next day. Dogs and cats stopped near the merchants as a way to ask them for leftovers.

In the calm and shining night, Ezreal approached an inn. As he opened the establishment door, he was startled by the energetic children running outside like a typhoon. Their mothers followed them, yelling to them to behave.

Coming inside, Ezreal felt warm by the torches coming from the corners of the place. Distributed on the walls, white ceramics stood out nearby the tables of the area. On a table, a small group of hunters left some tips on the table, and soldiers drank their last sip of wine.

Ezreal approached the counter. “Baaack.” He called, leaning forward.

On the wall, a tapestry illustrated what seemed to be the King. With his sword raised, he together with his men fought against figures of dark and heavy armour. Ezreal recognised the design of the armour for being Noxian. Below the tapestry, a closed cabinet had written with demacian calligraphy ‘keys’ on a sign.

An old man righted his glasses, leaning his head forward to better see Ezreal. “Ah, lad! Welcome.”

“The keys to my bedroom?” Ezreal moved his hand to cheek as he straightened his legs. He tapped his foot on the floor.

“In a minute, Jarro.” The old man turned his back, opening the cabinet full of keys.

“One last thing.”

“Aye?”

“I’ll need paper and pencil to write stuff. Do you have it?”

The old man checked on his counter below. “Well, you can have half of the paper. We are running out—”

“That will do.” Ezreal nodded, standing his hand.

The innkeeper placed the key, paper and pencil on Ezreal’s hand. Making his way upstairs, a soft fragrance from the daisies floated in the air as he walked through the corridor.

Opening one door, Ezreal laid the paper on the bed.

**“Got any idea where it is?”** Ne’Zuk asked.

“Yeah, listen to me.” Grabbing the pencil, Ezreal drew the place according to the map in the cave. Then, he circled a residential area with a pencil. “We’ll have to walk a little from here, avoid some guards and then.” He made some dashed lines, “when we reach these houses,” making some more, “we have to cross this intersection, and the map is ours.” Finishing with a circle on an elaborated entrance with circular shapes like wings.

**“Ah! You mean The Grand Plaza place.”** Ne’Zuk remarked **. “That’s the place we should start to search.”**

Ezreal nodded. “See? You got it.” As he peeked through the window, pulling a little the closed curtains. “Now, time for some action.”

**“Kid… don’t you think we should prevent what will** **come** **after us?”** Ne’Zuk asked, clearly upset. **“Because you will encounter—”**

Ezreal laughed. “Are you afraid to be caught? Really?” He whined to Ne’Zuk. “You have me!”

Opening the window, he calculated the height down from his floor. He frowned at the high distance between his balcony and the ground of the street. If he uncovered a place, he wouldn’t need his leg to be broken.

**“By the Ascendant!”** Ne’Zuk groaned. **“Has it occurred to you that there will be guards in my way? Trying to stop me?”**

“I thought you warlords were fearless. Apparently, it’s all an act.” Ezreal smirked. “What did you dress back in your time? Tell me, no, really. Did you dress as chickens in battle or what?”

**“Kid!”** Ne’ Zuk shouted. **“If you try one more time to—”**

“Geez, you don’t need to be mad.” Ezreal clutched his ears frustrated. Then he climbed to the rooftop. “You have the smartest explorer with you. So, stop barking and let’s grab the map.”

**“If you die tonight—”** Ne’ Zuk exploded with anger.

“You will be responsible.” Ezreal cut the Voice, as he listened to a dog barking nearby. “The map will not be on my hands and wanna guess what will happen next?”

**“You don’t need to remind me of that, kid,”** Ne’Zuk answered, clearly irritated.

“Thought so,” Ezreal said it in a tone more reminiscent of mockery, than that of one which inspired hostility. “Now let’s see how we can steal this.”

Ezreal knew his magical abilities with Ne’Zuk would grab the chance to seek his lost powers. However, the Voice wouldn’t be the only one who had something in mind. With an opportunity of this calibre, Ezreal could become famous in no time and show to his parents how everyone admired his work.

***

After Ezreal jumped roof to roof, he finally reached the street. He could spot guards everywhere together in groups, or separating from each other. Each of them stood still, not moving a muscle, but their eyes scanned all directions like a clock’s needle.

Furthermore, Ezreal had another problem at hand. Royal Demacian guard’s armour was infused with petricite; a material mixed with petrified trees, ash and lime that could absorb magic. And this on its own would make Ezreal’s gauntlet useless against them.

**“What do you think of this, boy?”** Ne’Zuk asked as a group of three guards nodded to a guard patrolling a narrow street.

Ezreal observed the guards walking around the place. No breaks on their routine. No flaws that he could detect on their patrol. “Pft… That’s a piece of cake.”

With his experience dealing with security on his adventures, Ezreal knew his task wouldn’t be easy. So, for that same reason, he had to come up with something, after all the map waited for him for so long, like a son waiting for his father’s return.

**“What are you thinking, kid?”**

Ezreal aimed at a house. “Give me energy, because we’ll perform the most spectacular entrance in your life.”

He followed the group of guards that passed through the same street as he. As their back faced him, Ezreal’s gauntlet fully recharged and teleported him to a roof of the next home. As he jumped several houses, he reached the location.

A massive circular fortress stood in front of him, as he glanced up, he spotted archers patrolling along with two lancers. Getting closer, he noticed cracks with enough size for him to place his fingers and feet. Since the entrance could be patrolled, Ezreal thought of using the holes to help him climb to get inside.

As he jumped from a tree, aiming his gauntlet, Ezreal linked to the hall. Using the cracks to get the balance, he climbed up. Giving a peek an archer in the company of two lancers walked in the distance at a patrolling pace. As he waited for the guard to pass through, he jumped inside following the guard silently.

They walked downwards on a tower until Ezreal hid in the shadows closer to the stairs. After the guard closed the door, Ezreal waited for him to leave. Then, he stepped outside of the door, reaching the noble area.

By Ezreal experience dealing with forgotten places, he suspected the dungeon to be in the castle, which made his task a problem. If he walked straight to the rich garden which often sheltered the nobles, there was a possible change the guards would spot him.

However, Ezreal looked to the dense labyrinth of trees, grass and statues. If he used his gauntlet to pass through the maze, he should be safe in theory.

Ezreal peeped at the door as the guards turned their backs. Looking at the vast maze, he sneaked to a column. As nobody seemed to have noticed his presence, walking a reasonable distance, he aimed his gauntlet.

**“What are you doing!”** Ne’Zuk yelled.

“Uhh… it is obvious,” Ezreal hid in a shadow of the bush.

**“It is just your action is** —” Ne’ Zuk cut himself. **“You know what? Never mind. Not my problem if you get caught and die.”** He said in a noncommittal tone.

“Oh, really?” Ezreal crossed his arms as he wiggled his eyebrows. “In that case, yes, let me be caught. Because let’s face it,” he shrugged. “Demacia isn’t a big fan of magic, so if they find me, they’ll destroy you.”

**“That’s the last thing you will not dare to do!”** Ne’Zuk whooped in a fury. “ **Show respect for the Shurima emperor!”**

“Yeah, yeah, mighty Shuriman emperor,” Ezreal patted his gauntlet like he was touching a dog. “Stop being mad about everything and remember you choose me.”

**“That’s actually not a lie,”** Ne’Zuk confessed. **“Your considerable magic source is the best of all people that came across me.”**

“See? Not difficult to recognise me, isn’t it?” Ezreal touched the soft leaves of the grass. “Before you shine, let me climb this first.”

Raising his hands and pushing his body up, Ezreal climbed the bush.

“Hey!” A guard shook another.

“What?”

“Something’s there!”

On that instant, Ezreal infiltrated the maze, as the guards ran to inspect the strange shadow they had spotted. He stepped back as the guard’s blades penetrated the grass. Step by step, Ezreal followed in the shadows the only one path in the area.

As he kept going on his left, Ezreal saw a pathway to turn right. However, as like any mazes before, the path became short enough for him to turn left again.

He sighed as there was no time to play labyrinth games, it would take him hours. After a zig-zag pathway, Ezreal saw himself almost exposed to the royal guards. In front of him stood a guardian statue, kneeled holding his sword with its cape floating in such a devoted position as if the figure patronised its country.

**“That’s not the way,”** Ne’ Zuk protested.

“It’s obvious?” Ezreal said as he turned back to his original position. “But as usual, as good as I am, nobody will catch me.” He looked at his gauntlet.

**“Kid, don’t you think that will cause the guards to be suspicious of you?”** Ne’Zuk said sternly.

“Tsk… Of course not.” Ezreal aimed for another bush. “They will never suspect a thing, trust me.”

**“So, your “plan”, if I am assuming right, is to make holes in the bushes so you will not waste time?”** Ne’ Zuk asked thoughtfully.

“Ahah! We are getting smarter.” Ezreal said with a mocking tone. “Yeah, that’s it. Just don’t show yourself like a beacon, got it? That’s the last thing we need right now.”

**“Leave that to me, boy,”** Ne’Zuk said, utterly joyful.

Ezreal’s gauntlet trembled, surrounded with faint blue magical energy. Already charged, he shot a small blast of magical power to the bush. Passing through the hole, he recognised the pathway that led him to the dead end. Satisfied with his plan, he processed to do the same until he could find a way out of the maze.

After several minutes of cutting bushes with his gauntlet, suddenly, Ezreal saw an opening. By heavy sounds on the grass, he assumed to be the place where Demacian citizens gathered together to see the King, behind the giant white wing shape hiding the so-called The Grand Plaza.

With his gauntlet, Ezreal made a small hole, enough for him to escape.

As a group of guards patrolled the place, Ezreal aimed his gauntlet, teleporting to a tall fortress’s shadow. Watching the guards passing through made his heart racing faster.

Passing through the fortress from another group of guards, Ezreal hid in a column shadow.

A massive white construction stood in front of him. The two giant knights holding their sword stared at him like at any moment they will come out of the petricite and defend their territory. A form like opened wings supported it as a column of another warrior raising a shield. Ezreal knew if he passed the gates, he would have the privilege to meet the King’s castle, the most prominent building of all the country.

Four carved guards held their shields at the centre of the place as if the King would give them a prestigious title, as they contemplated a suspended sapphire. Ezreal suspected this place to be where the folks would attend their majesty sermons.

**“This is—”**

“SomethingSomething. Demacians know how to… uhh…intimidate their foes.”

**“That’s because they never visited Shurima in its great glory, kid,”** Ne’Zuk said. **“But there’s a task ahead, so get inside and grab my map.”**

Ezreal smirked utterly satisfied with his full chest of pride. “Together, we’ll say hi to the royal family, steal the map and leave this place as soon as possible.”

At the guard’s elaborated and solemn armour entrance, Ezreal concluded to be the elite royal guards. He would have to be cautious around; otherwise, he may face punishment or most likely dead. Yet, Ezreal had another idea on his sleeve.

“This was to be expected,” Ezreal said, glancing at the fortress to try to find a break-in.

**“What is the name of Shurima are you thinking now?”** Ne’Zuk asked. **“If you think at all, sometimes you are just—”**

“Ahh shush you, we will go inside, and that’s my final decision.” Ezreal cut off Ne’Zuk.

**“Are you insane?”** Ne’Zuk cried out loud in Ezreal’s head like a siren. **“The guards will spot you!”**

“Geez, can you just shut up!” Ezreal cringed his teeth annoyed, as he held his head. Guards at the entrance spotted a group of three passing by, they greeted each other with respect. “We will have the map in our hands and leave this place in one piece. Ok?”

**“Only if you have a plan at all, kid,”** Ne’Zuk said, infuriated. 

“Tsk… you worry too much when you have me,” Ezreal said in a haughty tone as he sneaked between in the garden.

Forward of the maze stood out the closed fortress of a massive gate, guarded patrolled routes along with arches on the towers. Ezreal calculated his possible pathways to the King’s castle.

If he climbed the fortress, he could find a tower for him to infiltrate inside, consequently finding the dungeon. Although the full moon’s light played in the guard’s favour, making the archers spot him easily.

But if he created more holes, the guards could be distracted. With that, Ezreal could climb the fortress to go inside the castle and find his treasure. At first, it seemed a good idea. However, the archers will spot an ample magic light coming from the maze, which could alert the entire city.

**“Disappointed, kid?”** Ne’Zuk asked in a sneering tone. **“Too hard for you?”**

“Come on,’ Ezreal had no other option but to go along with the first one. It seemed to him the best he had at the moment. “Even a Piltoven child could figure this out.”

**“Well… what are you waiting for?”**

“To find my glory inside.” Ezreal tiptoed along with the tall bush. “Which will be that one,” pointing to an intersection.

**“You want a big hole this time?”**

Ezreal nodded. Reaching it, as he made a small hole, he could spot a tower that could be used as cover, and no guards patrolled at the moment. The only problem was the light from the moon.

_The royal family will never guess who’s breaking his castle. Me, of course! And this should be enough to make my uncle jealous._ Ezreal aimed the gauntlet making a hole enough for him to pass through.

Linking to the tower’s hall, Ezreal climbed the wall, as he found some small indents on the petricite stone to make it easier. As he reached the top, he took refuge in the shadow of a statue.

He had to run to reach another statue, for him to hide again; yet he knew at the advance that archers will be an eye on him. Flexing his legs, aiming the gauntlet forward, he linked to the path.

Running like a madman, as he approached the tower walls, several arrows shot in his direction. Dodging them with the help of his gauntlet, he leaned to the wall, the arrows stopped firing.

Ezreal repeated the same action as he did with the other tower. As he sat down to take a rest, an enormous shadow flew in the air. At first, it resembled a giant bird, but as the figure scouted closer to the area, Ezreal recognised it. Demacian raptors. Giant beasts with golden and blue feathers, a curved beak and dark eyes. They made part of the military service of the country. Their primary action was to scout and harass enemy lines.

The creature laid on the tower. A raptor knight mounting the beast, pushed the raptor’s head to scout around. As the beast moved its sharp claws, the knight swung his long spear.

Ezreal felt his heart racing faster, and his breath pacing in a nervous rhythm. The creature’s claws clashed on the cold petricite as it chirped around the area. Moving to the corner of the statue, the raptor looked at the shadows, as Ezreal moved to the opposite side, waiting for the creature and its raider to go away.

However instead, the raptor moved to the other side, forcing Ezreal coming back to his initial position. Without a clue, the knight pulled up the creature, ordering to go back to the skies. The raptor made a wild noise, flaying back to scouting the place again.

“That was close,” Ezreal’s heart paced softly as he watched the creature disappear towards the heavens. “And fun. A reminder to myself, do this another time, again.”

On that second, Ezreal ran the direction of a giant rock again, as he reached it, he climbed, continually looking for any raptor in the area.

As Ezreal climbed up the massive rock, he noticed the rock could lead him to the castle’s tower’s open balcony. However, to pass through the archers, he had to wait until one of them left to switch with other guards, but Ezreal had to know their patrolling routines if that had to happen. And since they would be in the castle until dawn, he had not much time to wait.

Or try to pass through their nose. If Ezreal could find the slightest space for him to sneak in, that could be an opportunity. He knew if they caught him, he would be arrested.

Ezreal smiled, utterly pleased with himself. He couldn’t wait to show to Demacians who would invade their precious King’s castle.

Reaching the top of the tower, he had only a closed copula with two windows upwards as his entry. Touching the copula’s texture, he noticed no failures on the tower’s structure, bare petricite stone sculptured in perfection. Ezreal looked back, over his shoulders, but no raptor seemed to in the vicinity.

Ezreal looked upwards of the windows. As he reached on the top of the rock, he managed to be at the top of the cupola. Sliding down upon the tiles, he could see the open windows.

Inside, an old man dressed in white and gold held big books on a secretary. A pile of candles lit his scrolls, and a lot of books piled on one another. Two bookshelves were closer to a fireplace, where a cat slept on a blue cushion.

Ezreal looked down only to notice a bed, his only opportunity to sneak in. Then he looked at the old man not paying attention to anything else, but his papers and scrolls. Aiming to the bed, Ezreal teleported safety. The cat rolled over its long tail, as its ears twitched.

Ezreal left the room, reaching a long corridor on both sides and stairs, Sneaking to the door. No guards, no archers or even servants ran around.

Ezreal walked downstairs until he reached a small area. Behind the stairs, were hidden piles and piles of old furniture, a small cage, a small coffer and empty wooden boxes.

Opening the only door on the place, Ezreal suspected it to be the castle’s entrance by the great opulence in the area. The crystalised golden chandelier illuminating the upstairs with a blue carpet with elegant golden embroidery but sophisticated patterns. Such old-fashioned designs couldn’t be compared to his homeland, Ezreal thought. More advanced machinery, complex objects with advanced magic infused. But then again, Demacia still lived in old traditions, so it was expected no more or less.

Tiptoeing to the other corridor, Ezreal could hear the servants already snoring loudly in different rooms like an orchestra. A stench of mixed spices rode the air, reminding him of distant and exotic landscapes like Ixtal and Ionia. After peeking into a room after room, Ezreal got inside of a small area.

At first, everything seemed at ordinary; gardening tools, old kitchen catering, brooms and towels. At any mortal eye, this small detail will escape but not from Ezreal. Usually, he knew the dungeons would always be hidden somewhere on his adventures, especially by a symbol of bars carved on the trapdoor. Pushing stuff aside, he found it a trapdoor. Lockpicking it, he walked downstairs, as his gauntlet’s gem illuminated the passage faintly ahead.

Long downstairs led him to a small room with only a stair and two torches at both sides of the rocky, cold walls. As he opened the door, sounds of chains clanked around, behind wooden doors closer to a small bar metal door at the end of the room.

On the walls, chains and torches closer to each column in the room. Candles illuminated some metal and wood instruments that Ezreal guessed to be for torture and a small chair where a guard slept.

Approaching the guard, he had a ring with keys on his belt. Ezreal moved his hand to grab the ring. As his fingers touched it, the guard couched, moving his hands to his belt.

Finger by finger Ezreal opened the guard’s hand moving to his chest armour. Grabbing a dagger on the table, he ripped the guard’s belt, holding the ring with keys.

As Ezreal opened the massive door, **“Can’t you feel it, kid?”** Ne’Zuk said with a thrill in his voice, like a madman that escaped the asylum.

As the Voice had spoken, Ezreal’s gauntlet trembled. “Yeah! This was the sign we’re looking for!”

The chains and spider webs surrounded the cold place, with a wet scent coming from small water puddles and a mould smell invading the air. The intersection was dimly lit by candles placed inside of copula shapes.

As Ezreal approached the intersection, he moved his gauntlet to the right path, the gauntlet’s gem trembled. Walking in the corridor as it seemed to be an abandoned place, suddenly the area manifested a mixture of death and life.

Weak coughing coming nearby grabbed Ezreal’s attention. An old man sat on the floor next to another of long, oily hair. On their massacred pale skin with non-healed red lines, flies flew around their red bubbles like it was made of honey. A mouse skittered around their dirty feet, sniffing for food. On a prison ball and chains tied their bloody and broken hands. 

The air had a mixture of strong and foul smell. Ezreal could hear flies dancing in the corners as they laid to feast themselves on something soft but dark.

Ezreal flinched away as he closed his mouth. He felt his body sticky as if thousands of slugs crawled up his skin. He curled his plump lip.

**“Ahhhh! This place!”** Ne’Zuk said in utter delight. “ **Such misery! The agony in their souls! Ahhh… yes! The pain!”** He screamed ecstasy. “ **The sound of their screams, singing the symphony of their punishment!”**

Ezreal turned his face in the hope the discomfort could vanish. “Are you… enjoying this? Like… really?”

**“This place reminds me of home, boy,”** Ne’Zuk said wistfully. **“Their screams to the emperor for their wretched souls for mercy was like a song to my ears.”**

“Never thought you’re into diseases.” Ezreal looked to a corner of rusty chains in a despaired attempt to forget the men in the prison. “Your screams sounded like you’re fucking someone.”

**“Ah, innocence is bliss.”** Ne’Zuk’s Voice sounded like a sweet hissing coming from a demon. **“Say, boy… would you kindly allow me to describe how we used to whip—”**

“Nah thanks—”

**“The sharp blade ripping in their flesh, penetrating deeply on their skin. Eating their body alive—”**

“Ne’ Zuk, stop!”

**“After with a scorching iron grabbing a tongue, pulling and pulling and pulling—”**

“Not helping. Stop, I mean it!”

**“With a needle, ripping off their bubbles. Blood ran over their bodies, like a river. The rats love their taste—”**

“Stop it!” Ezreal’s Voice got weaker, as his stomach contained the disgusting, violent imagery in his mind.

**“And when we feed them with their own flesh! Their frown of agony, their terrified open eyes, and my favourite part,”** Ne’ Zuk’s Voice echoed on the adventurer’s mind with pure malice. **“Their broken body, exhausted, annihilated!”**

Ezreal held his rotund stomach, biting his lips longer than needed. Yet his insides tried to fight the uncontrollable force stretching the organs roughly ready to break apart.

“Hmhm…” Ezreal held his mouth, rushing to a corner. “Arghhhh!”

A yellowish liquid yet a little brownish came out of his mouth. All the ingredients he had swallowed that night: the small chewed pieces of ham and cheese, and the small sliced pieces of seeds of the bread.

Ezreal felt a wet sensation of filth accumulating inside of his mouth with his empty stomach and a constant feeling of dirt. In a desperate instinct, he looked around for something to clean to wipe with.

**“Ah, kid!”** Ne’ Zuk said in a friendly yet jesting tone. **“You didn’t take me seriously, did you? It was just a joke.”**

No luck. Everywhere felt dirty, smelly and macabre. Feeling his gauntlet shaking tremendously, Ezreal looked at a cell. A towel placed on the iron bars had blood with a filthy and sticky liquid with a fishy smell.

Ezreal sighed, looking to his jacket; then to the dirty, smelly towel. _Argh! Can’t believe I will have to wipe my mouth with this._ Grabbing a little of his jacket, he wiped his mouth. He curled his dry lip like a desert from Shurima. He checked in the small pockets on his belt only to find that he didn’t bring his water flask.

**“What are you waiting for?”** Ne’Zuk remarked. **“Just go inside and grab my map.”**

“Are you joking? In this… this… uhh… place?” Ezreal took a deep breath. “Let me just— check something first.”

Ezreal grabbed little chains nearby. He grasped at the chains until the cold metal dug into his flesh, and his knuckles turned white. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart sank into the pit of his stomach. What could be inside? The same he had witnessed? Or, far worse? Deep inside, he wished that could just be a skeleton of a prisoner or a dead corpse.

Moving forward, slowly, Ezreal moved past the chains to touch the iron bars. Successfully the chains penetrated the darkness. However, nobody came out. As he approached, hands from the darkness tried to grab him, like a lion attacking a prey.

“Shit!” Ezreal fell on the ground.

“Oh, hello there, pretty boy.”

From the darkness, skinny fleshy fingers grabbed the bars. Around the nails came a brownish and smelly substance. The fishy stench came from the point of the prisoner’s fingers.

“Why the chains? Is pain your kink?” The prisoner asked.

Ezreal’s throat felt a compulsion to throw his stomach up, as his mouth fought another wave of nausea. _It isn’t my business but… is that what I think it is?_

“Not much for a talk? Better.” The prisoner said with such pleasure, Ezreal could swear he heard the man moaning. “I prefer them silent, especially virgins.”

**“Kid, you have to open this cell.”** Ne’Zuk suggested. **“It’s a must! My power is inside here. You have to grab it.”**

Ezreal curled his lips in an exaggerated angle on the corner of his mouth as the prisoner’s fingers tried to reach him with no success.

“Come closer, pretty one.” The prisoner waved his hands at the adventurer to approach.

“Nah, thanks.” Ezreal finally answered, taking a nervous breath. “This spot is perfect.”

“That’s sad.” The prisoner’s fingers disappeared in the dark. “But you are here for a reason, isn’t it?”

Although Ezreal tried to regain his confident posture. “That’s right.” Yet he couldn’t stop feeling his hands fingers fidgeting. “Inside of your cell, there’s something that interests me.”

“Is it now?” The prisoner said. “And what that could be?”

“Huh…” Ezreal grunted on his snarky tone, yet it still came out with broken words. “The upgrade for my magical weapon.”

**“Me, you want to say.”** Ne’Zuk protested.

“You are indeed my type.” The prisoner’s voice became deep and hoarsely trying to seduce the adventurer. “We can come to an agreement.”

Ezreal forced a smile. “What do you suggest?”

“Simple,” the prisoner’s Voice faded gently. “You free me from this place, and as a reward, you will have what you desire.” In the dark, the adventurer could hear the chains from the prisoner’s feet shaking. “What do you say, pretty one?”

_This is weird Demacians by nature, don’t lie._ The prisoner’s tone had a sweet and soft touch, like an angel from the heavens. Despite the tenderness and warmth in his Voice, it also dripped with poison and backstabbing intentions.

Ezreal wished this moment could be like his adventures. Forgotten places with magic and danger, and mysterious and secret places that would be hidden from everyone’s eyes.

His fingers sweated like he was dealing with a dreadful warlord. His voice... he wanted to shout something, but it was stuck, as if many hands scratched his throat, making him unable to utter a word.

However, despite this intense and eerie feeling coming from the prisoner, Ezreal couldn’t allow losing what would become his. He must have the location of the rest of the power to his gauntlet.

**“A reminder thought,”** Ne’Zuk warned. “ **You will not receive my help. You must become strong, so you can, in the future, use my power properly. Do you understand?”**

This was a high risk. Ezreal suspected that the prisoner would try somethig funny, given how the prisoner called him just a moment ago. The thought of being touched by his slim hands and fingers coated in a sticky fluid made Ezreal sick again.

However, Ezreal was determined to take the risk. Should he let this glorious moment slip, all else that he had done will be in vain. He had intentions to use his gauntlet at his advantage, yet Ne’Zuk had a point. He must have used all his power by now, and he ended it to recharge again. So Ezreal would have to escape in the old fashion way. Plus, the prisoner had a fragile body in contrast with his agile and robust body. The man wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

That comforting thought brought a pompous smile on his lips. “Sure, whatever. I’ll free you from your cell, and then you can go. I don’t care where.” Ezreal whirled the ring with the keys on his fingers.

“You will not regret it.” The prisoner’s tone became dark and excited, like a personal stalker.

Ezreal threw the ring keys to the dark prison. Stepping back, he watched the prison door cautiously, his gauntlet aimed in an attempt to scare the prisoner and make him leave. As the figure approached, the prisoner was revealed.

A slim, middle-aged man, with pale skin, socked in towards his bones, as if he hadn’t had a proper meal for decades. The prisoner stared wildly at Ezreal, burning with uncontrollable desire. Around the prisoner’s eyes, black marks detonate lack of sleep, but also a purple mark as if his eye has been hit thousands of times.

His lips opened, showing his broken and dirty teeth at all in his mouth’s gum. Bones from his chest contrasted nicely with his ripped clothes. He had heavy red marks on his wrists and legs from the chains.

“Oh? Playing hard to get?” The prisoner approached. “You are indeed my type, pretty boy,” standing his hands ready to grab the adventurer.

Despite the prisoner’s delicate, fragile appearance, he sprinted with his arms open like pincers of a praying mantis. Ezreal moved his eyes, trying to follow the man’s speed. The prisoner got closer… near the torchlight… his greedy fingers with lust wanting to grab Ezreal.

As his eager smelly fingers desired to touch the adventurer, Ezreal dodged the prisoner’s attempt to grab him. His voice faded away as if he was losing his life. He shuddered, looking at the man trying to hold him as if he were his lover.

“Oh! Don’t be sad, pretty boy.” The prisoner grinned with all his remaining teeth. “Why so concerned? I will make you feel good, don’t worry.”

Even with his body in shock, Ezreal tried to move as fast as he could, yet it was too late to escape the prisoner’s lustful affections.

With feverish passion, the prisoner tightly gripped Ezreal’s hands possessively, pushing him down like pulling down a play doll. Ezreal moved his legs in an attempt to push back the prisoner, yet the man remained still like a concrete statue.

Ezreal contorted his body, feeling his hands being pushed down as his legs slid on the ground. He gritted his teeth by the effort he tried to remain in his position. However, the man controlled it as if he was the master of the adventurer’s body. Ezreal kicked his legs again, but it was a useless endeavour since the man pinned them independently. The prisoner touched Ezreal’s face slowly and softly like a lover that had missed his loved one for so long.

Ezreal felt the sticky liquid from the man’s fingers running down on his face, cold and slippery. The sensation of the prisoner’s nails craving his skin made Ezreal curl his lip harder, as his throat accumulated another second wave of nausea ready to be split out.

“Yes, you are pretty.” The man grinned.

“Shut up and let me go already.” Ezreal tried to move the rest of his body with no success. “I’m not your property.”

The man didn’t hesitate to show his affections. As the prisoner raised the adventurer’s legs, he tried to reach his belt; yet Ezreal moved his waist to dodge the man’s lustful greedy hands.

Then the man tried to push up Ezreal’s shirt. His chest exposed to the man’s mercy felt his cold like ice and slippery like gel fingers, sliding up to reach Ezreal’s nipples. Yet the man felt a strong kicking on his stomach.

The prisoner narrowed his eyes, grabbing Ezreal’s hands. He pushed them down. He punched the adventurer’s stomach and slapped his face hard. Groaning in severe pain, Ezreal hugged his stomach.

Grabbing Ezreal’s legs, the prisoner unbuttoned the adventures’ belt, then zipped down his trousers. Taking off the belt from the waist, the prisoner grinned utterly satisfied that the adventurer will finally be his lover. At that moment Ezreal remembered his fight with Januk.

The pirate had kicked his ribs hard. The pain and agony Ezreal felt like a thousand warriors had tortured him in prison. The fight had no light ahead. Although the pirate wasn’t interested in taking Ezreal’s body, he was in grave danger and could have died, yet his gauntlet saved him and something else.

**“Can’t believe you will let this miserable pervert touch you,”** Ne’Zuk said, disappointed.

_Anger is a wonderful arcane motivator. Use it or lose it._ Ezreal felt his heart bursting fire with rage like a possessed evil spirit. He glared at the man ready to take off his pants to begin his action.

“Why are you violent?” Ezreal asked as the man stopped.

“Am I?” The man twitched his lips pathetically in confusion.

“Of course, you’re,” Ezreal said more in a way to distract the man. “Why can’t you be more… uhh… gentle?”

“Oh, if that’s the problem—” However instead of stopping, the prisoner took the adventurer’s suggestion as to be softer on his manners.

“But…” Ezreal took a deep breath. He twitched his lips as if he had drunk raw milk. “Give me your hand.”

The man grinned satisfied by the adventurer’s suggestion as finally, his fantasy will become true. “Will you suck my hand like a cock?”

Ezreal forced a smile. “Yeah! That’s the idea!”

Eagerly the man moved his hand towards Ezreal’s lips. The intense smell made his stomach squeezed like an empty bottle.

Taking a deep breath, Ezreal held the man’s hand. Trembling but ready he bit the prisoner’s hand like a vicious vampire sucking his victim’s blood. Penetrating the man’s skin, the adventurer felt his stomach whirling at an uncontrollable speed.

“Arghhh!” The prisoner screeched. “You tricked me!”

Ezreal kept biting as the man tried to move to his face, in exchange to feel the adventurer’s bit on his hand even harder. The man panted and gasped as he hastened, feeling his skin being ripped off from his hand.

Tossing aside the prisoner’s skin at the ground, Ezreal coughed many times, spitting in the ground. However, not satisfied, he wiped his mouth harder in an attempt to clean from the mess. His mouth became sore, burning inside like an open wound.

Getting up Ezreal put his trousers and belt back in place.

“Strong…” Ezreal’s Voice came out deep with anger.

**“Yes, kid,”** Ne’Zuk said. **“Stab him, stump him or grab something sharp and rip off his skin.”**

Panting and trembling, “I’ve got a better idea.” Ezreal grabbed a pair of chains nearby.

**“That will work too.”** Ne’Zuk’s Voice echoed on Ezreal’s mind in a tender tone like a relaxed mantra.

Ezreal glanced at the chains he held on his hands. He remembered his fight with the pirate again. Januk wasn’t killed, just a soft poison to make him stay in the bathroom for days. But this time Ezreal had no choice but to go through a more aggressive approach. He couldn’t allow this man to keep living, not after what he had tried to do.

The prisoner stared at him with his twitched, disappointed lips as if Ezreal had cheated on him. At that moment, Ezreal felt his heart empty as the void, storing nothing but anger.

He walked towards the prisoner, shaking.

Like an obsessive, jealous lover, the man plunged towards Ezreal to catch his hands, yet he dodged and moved the chains to the man’s feet. He fell on the ground holding his legs.

**“Now!”** Ne’Zuk advised. **“Kill him now.”**

The prisoner raised his hands in a desperate attempt to have his last grasp of life. However, Ezreal stomped the hand with his boot violently. The man wailed as voices from other cells manifested in enthusiasm, “Kill him! Kill him!”

“Look, we have an audience.” Ezreal raised the chains. “This for your

stupid attempt to rape me.”

The metal clawed the man’s fragile body. The prisoner screamed excruciatingly holding his body like a terrified abused child. “Shit! Fuck!” Without mercy, Ezreal swung the chains, hitting on the man. The adventurer kept hitting as the man’s screams couldn’t be heard. “Go pound a sump, you disgusting piece of shit!”

**“That’s it, boy. Punish him!”** Ne’Zuk yelled in an encouraging manner.

New scars started to rip the skin like knives craving on the surface on the man’s body. With bloody arms, legs and the rest of his body, the prisoner gave a last look at Ezreal that was holding the chains.

“You pig!” Ezreal gave him another violent strike.

**“Good one boy.”** Ne’Zuk continued. **“Don’t let him live.”**

As the man opened his mouth to speak, the chains ripped its skin in a flash. With low energy left the prisoner tried to clutch his body towards his cell. However, Ezreal stopped him with another blow. With the last swing, everything went silent.

The prisoner no longer moved his hand. His head lifeless, rolled over his eyes, as a mouse sniffed his mouth. Ezreal spat on the prisoner’s corpse with a little anger inside, kicking the man hard as much as he could.

“Guess who’s laughing, now?” Ezreal spoke in a broken jeering tone, as the voices in the cells screamed of his victory. “Me!”

After kicking the lifeless man after a while, Ezreal fell on the ground. In his adventures, he never had to deal with these situations, after all, those who would help him out, would in many cases die without noticing that Ezreal had vanished from their sight.

Ezreal took a deep breath, not taking his eyes off the dead man. His body shivered as the memory of the man trying to rape him came to his mind. He hugged himself, lowering his head in shame. He squeezed his jacket as a lifeless breath came from his tiny Voice.

**“Well done, kid.”** Ne’Zuk complemented. **“You did well. See? You are strong. You don’t need anybody but yourself.”**

“He almost—” Ezreal glanced at the cell, grabbing a little of his courage to go inside.

**“Yes, but you outsmarted him.”** Ne’Zuk pointed out. **“I knew from the start you would. He was an idiot like anyone you have come across.”** He made a pause and then continued. **“You are my favourite mage, kid. You have great potential, and together, we will see the world as it is.”**

Ne’Zuk’s words had a comforting touch, not because of his harsh Voice but the message behind it. Ezreal had been with him almost as he could remember, he was just a teenager searching for his parents that had disappeared. And when he found his gauntlet, he never expected to have life inside, and then they began their journey together.

Ezreal felt especial as Ne’Zuk liked him that much, even though sometimes they fought. He knew the Voice chose him to be his companion after all Ezreal was the only one who deserved the weapon to be in his possession. Nobody was worthy of that privilege but him.

“You know better it was always me,” Ezreal said as he puffed out his chest.

**“Always, kid, always,”** Ne’Zuk replied. “ **Why don’t you make more decisions like that? You aren’t bound to anyone but yourself. Just don’t think next time. You know you are the best.”**

“Tsk, of course, I am.” Ezreal got up slowly. 

Suddenly noises from other prisoners echoed inside, grabbing the iron bars, shaking violently like wild beasts to get free. Others simply shouted for help or tried to ask for someone or food. Ezreal stared at the open cell.

He needed to get inside, and by the looks of the other cells, this one wouldn’t be the prettiest of all. Trying to find a way out would be complicated since by his experience dungeons are hard to get out once you are inside. There was only one choice.

He could use chaos to distract the guard. With this idea, Ezreal could leave the place, while the guards will be busy with the prisoners, however, returning to that prison implied for him to grab the key.

Ezreal looked to his hand with the gauntlet. “You’re not gonna like this…”

**“Kid! You are not going to grab the keys with that hand**.” Ne’Zuk demanded.

“Yes, I’ll. We don’t have a choice.” Ezreal protested, glancing at the open cell, as his lisp twisted with disgust. “Everywhere is argh—”

**“You have the other hand. Or… how about you pay a visit to that sleepy guard, and grab some cloth from him?”** Ne’Zuk suggested.

“Nah. And to be honest, you will love this.” Ezreal grinned. “He was full of diseases, which apparently is your thing—”

**“Kid!”**

Ezreal patted the gauntlet like he was touching a cat. “What do you say to be cleaned after this mess? Sounds good?”

Ne’Zuk made moments of silence. **“Fine, fine,”** he answered, frustrated. **“Just finish this fast.”**

As Ezreal approached the open prison, a pungent stench of putrid floated on the air. His stomach began to whirling tidily, as his mind devoured the disgusting scenario.

The walls painted with red with the same sticky, translucent liquid that Ezreal had seen on the prisoner’s nails. There were traces of the prisoner’s everywhere, even on the rusty chains. _Disgusting pig!_

Ezreal covered his nose, as his boots felt the softness on the ground, the smell was all around. As he searched on the mess, the ring keys captured his attention, stuck inside of a stool. He had come this far, giving up now would be a waste; but at the same time, the smell, the horrifying scene…

Ezreal took a deep breath. He had to do it! For his parents, his fame and glory, he must press on. Rising his hand with the gauntlet, he dove with bravado like a valiant knight. He could feel it: the ring and the keys. Grabbing them with his gauntlet, his mouth twitched harshly by the strong smell.

“Are you going to free us?” A male voice echoed coming from the next cell.

“Possibly.” Ezreal looked to the next prison. “These are the keys.” Approaching the Voice’s location.

“Well then, give it to me.” Dirty bloody hands opened its fingers widely, like a desperate drug-addicted.

“Not so fast.” Ezreal held the ring. “What will you give to me in return?”

“You seemed very interested in that prison, whatever that is. So that’s your reward.” The Voice said. “Is that fair?”

“I tell you what.” Ezreal stared at the prisoner’s bloody hands full of dirt and some fur. “All you have to do is to free the others, not… uh like that guy.” He glanced at the dead prisoner.

“We don’t like them, believe me.” Ezreal could hear the young man’s teeth ripping apart what seemed to be meat. Chewing slowly with all his teeth wolfed down.

“So, do you agree with me?” Ezreal asked.

“One last thing.” The young prisoner kept devouring his meal. “Is the guard at the entrance—”

“Sleeping like a child.” Ezreal grinned.

“Finally!” The young man’s voice transformed instantly to a pleased one. “That son of a bloody whore will taste my blade!”

**“This one seems easy to be ordered,”** Ne’Zuk suggested. **“If you keep talking, he will come along with your plan.”**

“He’s all yours,” Ezreal said to the prisoner. “But first, you free the others.”

“Yes… that is all good and pretty.” The young man chewed more of his food. “But wouldn’t the other guards start a rampage?”

“Wouldn’t you agree that’s the fun part?” Ezreal straightened his posture. “You’ll have a company with the others from this place. They’ll never know what hit them, to be honest.” He shrugged as a cocky smile escaped his lips. “You came this far, thanks to me of course, but don’t you think this is an opportunity?”

The young man laughed with malice. “No, no, no. He will feel my hands, struggling him, breaking his bones, cutting his tongue until his insides bleed!” On that instant, Ezreal watched a dead mouse being thrown out of the cell. “What can I call you?”

**“Good job, kid.”**

“Jarro Lightfeather.”

“Ah! We know you, Jarro. So, give me the keys to my freedom.”

Approaching Ezreal twisted his lips. “Sure… have it.”

“Well, it came from his cell. Nothing can be done about it.” The young man’s fingers gestured to grab the keys.

“Enjoy your freedom.” Ezreal gave the young prisoner the keys.

From the cell came a lad at the same age as Ezreal. Small by structure, yet it wasn’t his lack of nutrition, he could have a reliable and robust constitution. His fierce eyes had a lack of emotion like a predator. His black like coal eyes highlighted with scars on his lips. A deep one like he had cut his lips with a sharp knife, making a huge smile.

Ezreal looked at the assassin walking to another cell, opening the door. Smiling, he said. “Don’t worry, you don’t make my type of victim, so rest at ease.”

Little by little, the cell doors opened. Ezreal could witness them looking at each other, perplexed by the situation for being so easy.

Taking a deep breath, Ezreal covered his nose, returning to the smelly disgusting cell. His gauntlet trembled frantically as Shuriman symbols shone intensively absorbing its magic, creating a hole in the rocky wall.

Guided by the gauntlet’s gem light, Ezreal reached a rocky room. Nothing inside but only a strange door, with carvings of one surface but seemed double in shape of hands. As the gem’s light touched the rock, shining symbols made a phrase.

“Shine like the sun, and your reward will be justice.” Ezreal translated the symbols.

**“Well done, boy,”** Ne’Zuk said monotonously.

Ezreal walked to the door. “This is easy, told you.”

_Finally! After all this time, the map will be in my hands!_ The gem shown with a bright light like the sun as the inscriptions on the door trembled by the presence of such intensively magic.Ezreal imagined himself laying his hand with the magical glove on the carving.

He laid the clean hand first, then ahead of the other one but not to close. Despite the gem’s gauntlet shining enough, the door didn’t budge. Ezreal knew his gauntlet was the solution, and even that wasn’t enough for the door to react. There was only one solution left.

He needed an extra person. Ezreal remembered a discussion he had with Ner’Zuk. He said once he was a ruler before it came to his time, he ordered his men to travel around Runeterra. One of his men ended up being in Demacia and was captured, questioned and brought to prison. Then, realising this could be a potential, Ne’Zuk’s follower used magic to place the map inside Demacia’s castle. For percussion, he made carving that not only one person but two has to be the solution for the door to open.

But who would Ezreal ask for help? Proposing to a stranger will be awkward enough. The only one who did without questioning was Taric, the strange Demacian Knight. However, what he felt in that cave… that warm feeling, Ezreal wanted to avoid at any costs. But this time he couldn’t. He couldn’t give up. He didn’t want to ask anyone else for help, after all, they would suspect for sure someone had been inside the castle, the responsible for freeing the prisoners.

In the name of his glory and his fame, Ezreal would have to convince Taric to be with him. After a good bath and disinfection, of course.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys
> 
> This chapter came out late mostly because of Christmas, so sorry about the delay but thank you so much for being patient. And once again I want to thank Tragedybunny for her patience and kindness.
> 
> I like teh direction of my story and I can't wait to see where this is going. I hope you like this chapter as I am writing the story.

With a phenomenal concert from the temple, Taric’s spirit rested peacefully that night. Yet he couldn’t shake off the idea of something, or someone lived in Demacia. But for how long? And who could it be?

If the mysterious identity could be defined as a creature, it meant great ancient power. Taric thought that maybe its skills came from seduction, since the beast convinced the young hunter’s fate resigned in murder. However, the lad didn’t seem enchanted, at least not as Taric had noticed. Perhaps by the malevolent people’s heart, the creature allured them to do more wicked deeds?

Taric thought as he adjusted his cape on his shoulders.

However, it could be possible to identify the caster as a human mage of old age by the young hunter’s observation. This idea could be supported by the lad advocating for the voice, and what had happened with the squirrels. It seemed someone with a vast experience in magic. What Taric experienced inside of the young hunter’s home couldn’t be described as anything but ordinary. The temperature dropped drastically. The air became suffocating to breathe, as if the squirrel’s souls cast their wrath to kill out of vengeance. For that to happen, the mage had to be present and have a vast knowledge of necromancy. But Taric found no signs of anyone with such mighty power.

If so, did the guards already know about this mystery? It would happen again since the creature or human would try to seduce the next unfortunate soul to look for answers in the darkest places of their hearts. Taric wondered as he put on some perfume.

Leaving the room, Taric walked downstairs. To his surprise, his father had company. Approaching the end of the stairs, Taric noticed a woman who, by her appearance, he suspected to be a noble. Dressed in white like bright snow, her arms had golden designs connected with a golden chain to a necklace. Her wavy brown hair like chocolate had a hairpin of the Spiritmight sigil tied with blue roses.

“Rest at ease, Daniel. Your trouble will be settled soon.” Her voice had a confident tone, but with a soft touch.

Daniel placed his attention on the scroll and wrote more in silence.

The noble lady joined her fingers, laying down her hands on her flat belly. Then she broke the silence, “my mother is really pleased to know your effort to collaborate on this situation.”

Daniel glanced at her, squinting his eyes to scan the noble lady’s intentions. He finished writing his letter and sealed the scroll. With his legs aligned with his shoulders, Daniel turned his body towards the noble lady.

“Bring this to your mother.” Daniel ordered, giving the letter to the noble lady. His stare levelled to her caramel eyes. “Tell her our second meeting will take place this week.”

The noble lady pulled the corner of her mouth back and up. “Such good news will bring joy for us.” She hid the scroll on her flat chest on a slow motion. “We have no doubt this alliance would bring prosperity for both houses.”

_Prosperity?_ Taric raised an eyebrow, curious, but no longer bothered to investigate it further.

By his heavy steps on the floor, both placed their gazes at him. Daniel had an intense scowl on his face. Enraged stern eyes as he curled his lip heavily, watching his son approaching the table.

The noble lady moved her shoulders down in relief. She had a delicate smile like a pulchritudinous rose, radiant and captivating.

She turned to Daniel, pointing at Taric. “Your son?”

Daniel nodded. “He is.” His voice gradually became grave after a heavy sign.

Taric smiled. “Good morning, my lady.” Then he faced his father, “good morning, my dear father.”

Approaching, she greeted, “Ah! Sir Taric, what a pleasure to meet you in person. We have heard grand stories about you.” She held out her hand.

Holding her hand with care, Taric felt her elegant and natural thin skin on his fingers like touching a peel of an apple. The brightness from her long natural nails would make other women jealous. She had the perfect image of youth and femininity.

Taric kissed her hand gingerly. “Such praise cannot be ignored. You have to tell me what tales you have heard about me.” Then, smiling like a charming prince, he winked cheekily. “It’s about my beautiful face, isn’t it?”

The noblewoman moved her free hand to her mouth, but she couldn’t contain her giggle like a silly teenager. Daniel covered his face. Shaking his head, he frowned heavily in disappointment.

Taric’s gaze turned to the noblewoman’s hair. “Your hairpin is dazzling, my darling. And by the token of your jewellery, you must belong to the Spiritmight family.”

Grabbing a little of her dress, the noblewoman bowed respectfully. “My name’s Aelia Spiritmight, first daughter of Drusilla Spiritmight. A pleasure.”

“The pleasure it’s all mine, Lady Aelia.” Taric nodded. “Is your mother at home? She needs to fill me with information about your second husband.”

“Sadly, Sir Taric, she will have a meeting with the king this morning. So, if you wouldn’t mind, I will provide you the full story.” Lady Aelia glanced at the window, then faced him. “But if you wish to wait for my mother, then only after dinner.”

“No problem at all, my lady.” Taric said. “You must feel stressed with all this situation. So, the faster we settled this, the better for you and your mother to rest at ease.”

Lady Aelia raised her cheeks in content. “Thank you for your kindness, Sir Taric,” then she gave her arm to him. “Shall we move? This needs to be spoken in confidence, after all it is a delicate matter.”

Taric gave his arm. “May you tell me the place, my lady?” He asked. “In your house? Or perhaps in the gardens?”

Lady Aelia tipped her head towards the door. As both left the place, they walked in the city until they reached the noble’s gardens. The guards patrolled the place, always with their impenetrable eyes watching who entered the noble’s area.

The nobles with their servants strolled on the maze, laughing and chatting with tiny voices. Taric looked at the groups, wondering what they were laughing about. As he kept observing the group to capture their conversation, one servant noticed him. He waved with a gracious smile, and she greeted him with a respectful bow with gentleness in her eyes.

Lady Aelia glanced at him and tapping on his shoulder. She said, “keep walking.”

Taric jerked his attention to her. “Oh! So, we will stop nowhere then?”

“Unfortunately, no, Sir Taric,” Lady Aelia addressed.

Taric made a pause for a while. Her gentle voice had disappeared, replacing with a deep but lower tone; as if she had confessed a secret.

Taric felt her arm getting tighter on his. Flicking his head, he noticed Lady Aelia shifting her eyes at both sides as if someone hid in the bushes. This meant one thing.

“Do you think you are being watched or followed?” Taric catechised as he wondered who could be this time he had to face.

“Both.” Lady Aelia answered, placing her gaze at the flowers as they passed through the gardens. “He had eyes on me quite for some time…” She made a pause and then continued, “since my younger sister’s death they have tracked me down like a dog tracks its owner.”

“Your mother discussed that issue with me.” Taric remarked as he placed his hand on his chest. “You have my condolences. It must have been incredibly painful for you both.”

Lady Aelia took a deep breath. “It was,” her eyes looked down and faced Taric again. Her eyebrows widen forcefully. “Being a noble isn’t a paradise as many believe. Even with all the health authority in the country; if a mishap happens, Demacia crumbles and falls into the wrong hands.” She stated. “The past weeks we have been living by fear. But gladly with your help fortune would smile at us once again.”

“I’m moved by your faith in my skills.” Taric had a glimpse of Lady Aelia, quizzically widening her eyes. “Whoever comes to harm you, shall never trespass your privacy again.”

Lady Aelia gander at him with a soft smile. “You truly are the right Knight we were looking for.” Her voice changed to a tender tone. “And for such let me reveal you my tragic tale of my second husband, the artist.”

Both walked for a while until none could spot a single human around them. The flowers of the garden swayed gently by the wind passing through. Taric gave a sneak peek to a corner of the park to witness a bee dancing around a flower. He stopped to admire the beauty of the animal laying on the petal.

Realising his attention placed on the garden, Lady Aelia raised her voice for engagement. “This is a suitable spot.”

Taric kept his interest in the flying insect. The bee scratched the pollen and then danced around once again. “Such a gracious small creature.” Taric finally spoke as he admired the bee collecting the pollen.

“It is.” Lady Aelia said in a calm tone. “And that’s why that spot can be perfect for someone to cut out of my throat.”

Gingerly, with his fingers, Taric clasped the petals, feeling the bee’s tiny paws on his gauntlet. “With me at your side, he wouldn’t dare to stand against us.” Then his eyes found hers. “What’s the horrific tale you have to confide with me?”

Lady Aelia grabbed a little of her long dress and shook several petals on her fabric. Then righting her posture, she joined her hands, laying them down on her stomach.

“He used to be a great artist, one the of the best or so my father told me.” Lady Aelia explained. “He painted the fresco from the Illuminators Temple and sculptured the Protector image.”

Observing her, Taric watched Lady Aelia looking around again. With deep nervous breaths, she shifted her eyes on the garden. Her pupils had an intense glare with a sparkle of rancour. Someone must have followed them, Taric mused as Lady Aelia forced her jaw muscles to endure all the tension.

So amiably, he held her hands and comforted her. “You seemed distressed.” With his soft voice, Lady Aelia gazed at him. “Perhaps we should walk a little further?”

Lady Aelia took a deep breath and nodded. “We can still talk while we admire the gardens.”

“Continue, please.” Taric stood his arm.

Having her arms enrolled in his, Lady Aelia continued. “This man once had my admiration. Truly his art… was fascinating to contemplate.” She blinked her eyes, meeting Taric’s ones. “You would love to watch him painting. It seems like your style, Sir Taric.”

Taric made a pause. _My style?_ He wondered what Lady Aelia meant by that. Could it be the technique? Colours? Thematic? The artist? Or all in one?

“Could you describe him for me, please?” Taric placed his attention on a group of flowers blooming on a tall tree.

“He used to have long clay colour hair and eyes, he always dressed properly with his favourite blue hat with white and purple feathers.” Lady Aelia raised her eyebrows. “Why? Have you met him before?”

Taric nodded. “I used to attend his artistic painting sections in the city.” He smiled with relish. “Ah! I would never forget how he executed his marvellous creations! Do you know you have to have a good movement on the hands, so the execution on the paint can be precise? It is called the palette knife technique.” He explained while he moved his hands in a gentle but assertive manner. His voice sounded enthusiastic. “First, you produce lines that can indicate figures’ lines. Afterwards according to him is to paint the knife with the base colour for shadows or light, so later it can be added a brighter or darker colour.”

Lady Aelia forced a smile. “A thrilling subject, Sir Taric, but that man is long gone, sadly. This is because what happened after his painting and sculptures is quite disturbing.”

Taric jerked his head to her attention. “What has he done to you?”

“After he gained some fame in the city, my father proposed him to be my husband. It thrilled my father of the thought his precious daughter would finally be happy, or so my young sister told me.” Then she moved her eyes towards Taric, tracing every line of his face, eyes, nose, cheeks and mouth. “Then he approached me and asked me politely, ‘my dear wife, I would like to sculpt and paint your beauty.”

“Ready to paint his lover and share to the world. Such chivalrous man.” Taric addressed with a harmonious tone in his voice. He imagined the man kneeling down like a gentleman, and caressing her hand, he asked to paint her beauty. With such gracious thought, a cheery smile escaped his lips. “Why did you refuse?”

“Everyone admired him.” Lady Aelia tilted her head, pressing her fingers tightly. “But his sweet words had a different meaning, Sir Taric.” Her voice had a slow pace but changed back to her grave tone. “In his delusions of beauty, he will cut my body in parts, skin my me alive, and paint my portrait with my blood.”

Taric’s smile was replaced with heavy down lines on his lips. Such savagery made little sense, at least as far as he could remember the artist.

Yet her words came out with honesty. However, Taric couldn’t fathom the man suddenly turning into a vicious foul artist, as much as he tried. Taric remembered so well the man being patience and generous — unless something happened like the young hunter’s case.

Taric had to ask. “What makes you think that made your husband change of heart?”

Lady Aelia raised her eyebrow as if he asked the wrong question, “how could I know? It was so sudden. He had these macabre tendencies to paint and sculpt me.”

“Did you call the guards when you suspected his malicious tendencies?”

“Of course! Sadly, one guard received his ‘artist vision’ in the past three days.” She stopped walking to look again on the bushes, moving her eyes like a sentinel.

Gingerly, Taric caressed her hands. “You don’t need to—”

“I saw his creations with my eyes.” Lady Aelia’s voice sounded distant. “Sir Taric, have you witnessed a man dying in your hands with your weapon?”

“More than once.” Taric answered with grief.

Lady Aelia’s eyes had a curious sparkle in her pupils. “You may be familiar with what you will witness today, however be warned of his ‘creations’ are far worse than grotesque.”

The situation seemed delicate, and Taric had to do something about it while discovering what triggered the man to become corrupted. He suspected the creature or mage had a hand on the situation.

Yet Taric imagined himself in Lady Aelia’s position. If someone had followed him, would he stand still doing nothing? Call for help? Try to reason with the artist? Or would he get vengeance? For Taric, the answer was simple, but he had to know what Lady Aelia needed.

So Taric said. “You will have my protection until this situation is done, but first please tell me how you want me to approach this.”

Lady Aelia had darkness and emptiness in her eyes like the void, succumbing Taric to bow on her knees and obey her without question.

Then she said in a grave tone. “Kill him, Sir Taric. After what he has done to me, he deserves nothing more than rotting in hell without the Protector’s light.”

“What you are asking, my lady, is something heavy.” Taric’s voice sounded profoundly grave. “Killing isn’t an action to take it lightly, it never was.”

Lady Aelia moved her lips corner up softly, a quiet smile splashed on her face. “Is it?” Her voice no longer sounded grave, but somewhat smoky. “A bird sang to me your decision with the Illuminator’s Temple regarding my first husband.”

“How do you know where I was?”

“This city has ears everywhere.” She adjusted her head, resting her gaze on Taric’s eyes. “I have earned and seen them all.”

“What did your bird say about me?” Taric tilted his head.

Lady Aelia kept her smile as she walked around Taric with gentle steps. “The bird confided me despite it being already settled between you and father Caius to exorcise the young hunter, you decided to give him the last breath.”

Taric eyes widen like an owl. “No! That’s a lie!”

Lady Aelia stopped in front of him. “To think you have that intent, my dear Sir Taric, you surprise me.”

“Who trusted you with that information, lied! The young hunter died because of the strong exorcism.” He explained, moving his hands with conviction. “It never was a good idea. He showed promise to change—”

“Everyone knows you have good intentions.” Lady Aelia stated. “In my part I will never judge you, it is your duty as a Knight to vanquish evil after all.”

All this sounded vengeance to Taric. Lady Aelia had too much animosity inside her heart, but could she be blamed? Taric wondered. The promise had tormented all her life for a good husband that caused more suffering than joy.

She showed to have wonderful qualities such as intelligence and charisma. If Taric could remind her of that, Lady Aelia could feel more compelling to approach the situation peacefully. He had to try.

So instead Taric held her hand and lamented, “you carry with you a heavy burden in your heart, my lady. The death of your young sister, your poor father’s choice, and now this situation threatens your life.” He smiled kindly. “You are smart and a charming woman, and it mesmerises everyone in this city. It sounds such a waste of a beautiful lady as yourself finding comfort in violence instead.”

Lady Aelia tilted her head, and in a softer tone, she replied, “your words are moving me.” Then she righted herself and continued. “As long as the man doesn’t harm me further, I will be forever in your debt.”

Satisfied with her response, Taric laid her hands down. “Could you please tell me where he resides?”

“You should look for a place in Demacia’s Lesser Quarters with a symbol of a half-moon with stars. Some folks say he used to go closer to that old abandoned building.” Lady Aelia held her hands. “My prayers go with you, sir Taric. The Protector will guide your shield and hammer to put an end to the situation.”

And then both walked until they reached back the noble area—the scenario filled with the nobles’ lives in the gardens and the guards patrolling around. Lady Aelia accompanied Taric at the entrance of the place, wishing him luck on his important quest.

Approaching the King’s Crown tavern, Taric stepped inside. The place had only a couple of soldiers, merchants and folks in the tables taking their breakfast. The waitresses sat one table closer to a window, chatting with each other clearly to pass the time.

Approaching closer the walls with paintings, Taric recognised a familiar face. His heavy pauldrons with wing eagle shapes with sapphire wouldn’t fool anyone. His blue cape surrounding his sturdy neck while resting on his heavy armour. But the man’s long sword resembled the perfect craft for Garen Crownguard himself: a silver weapon with golden wings connected with a sapphire, and elegant golden shapes on his weapon’s grip.

“Good morning, Garen,” Taric greeted him as he ambled in his friend’s direction.

Garen jerked his body to his friend’s attention, “Taric!” Getting up, he opened his arms. “Come, let’s have a chat.”

Both hugged with their arms over each other’s shoulders. Taric felt comfortable beside his friend, like the old times when they met for the first time. He had known Garen since their teenage years on the Crown Vanguard elite order. Together they fought countless times in battles, sharing sorrows and joys. And since then, both got each other’s back.

Taric smiled, “it’s good to see you again after all these months.” He grabbed a chair and sat next to Garen. “There’s so much going on, you have to listen to the last news.”

Garen laughed, “it’s good to see you in good shape. I missed your gossip, you know?”

The redhead waitress, realising Taric’s presence in the tavern, got up from her table and grabbed a tray on the counter.

Then approaching, she greeted them. “Good morning, gentlemen, what will be for today?” She said, laying the tray on her stomach.

“The usual, darling.” Taric answered as he laid a hand on his cheeks.

She nodded, then looked at Garen.

“Same here,” Garen ordered.

Bowing with respect, the redhead waitress departed to request their orders.

Then, realising the redhead waitress reached the counter, Garen spoke. “So, tell me what have you been doing. It’s been a while since the last time we saw each other.”

“You wouldn’t believe this, but currently my father put his trust in the Spiritmight family. Apparently, he desires to have an alliance, and I quote with prosperity.” Taric whispered as he crossed one leg and rested his free hand on his knee.

Garen’s blue small eyes narrowed heavily as he raised an eyebrow. He frowned at the corner of his lips like a grumpy man, moving his massive arms on the tablecloth.

“Careful with that alliance,” Garen’s voice had a deep tone. “Since your mother’s dead, your father never shown an interest in any houses in Demacia.”

“That’s true, but this is good for him.” Taric said cheerfully. “As a guard he tells me stories, dreadful ones he has to face each day. With this alliance he will realise how important it is to open with others. He will value their support for sure.”

Garen moved his jaw as if he was checking food. Then he looked under his shoulders. The redhead waitress rested her bored attention on the counter to bring their orders.

Then Garen faced his friend. “You may have a point but still consider the consequences in the future. Because all of a sudden—”

“Sounds queer,” Taric completed.

Garen nodded. “But out of curiosity, what are you doing with Spiritmight? They aren’t a family in which you get easy approval.”

“They want me to investigate Lady Aelia’s past potential husbands.” Taric explained, tipping his fingers on his knee in a slow rhythm. “And today she wants me to deal with her second one, the artist.”

“How will you address that?” Garen asked as he heard footsteps in the area. Glancing by the sound, he noticed the redhead waitress approaching in their direction.

Taric gestured his hand as if he would speak, but Garen signed him to wait. Then the redhead waitress approached their table with their orders on a tray.

“Lord Crownguard,” she spoke with confidence. And bending over to the table, she laid a plate with wheat pancakes accompanied with dates and honey. “Please enjoy your breakfast.”

“Will do, young lady.” Garen nodded as his eyes placed on his food.

Then she laid down his tankard with coffee. “If it is not hot, please let me know.”

Garen limited himself to nodding.

Then, facing Taric, she smiled with vanity, “Sir Taric,” she placed his plate on the table. “Let our cook know if this is at your taste.”

Taric knew this aroma. Toasted white bread cut in half. In one part, there were two sliced grilled tomatoes, accompanied by slices of mushrooms. Two fried eggs with black pepper, salt and little coriander rested atop. Next to the other half of the toasted bread, half of an avocado delicately sliced.

“This looks divine, darling!” Taric praised the looks of his food.

The redhead giggled. “For our favourite customer,” she said, laying a tankard of hot tea on the table.

“I will let you know when finished.” Taric winked.

As the waitress left, Taric held the tankard closer to his nose, sniffing his drink. An enjoyable sensation reached his nostrils, by the soft, rich odour of his tea. Puckering up, he sipped the liquor. Slurping as the tea was moving around in his mouth, he breathed out through his nose. The liquid coated his tongue and throat.

At first, a sharp taste of mint sliced down his tongue. The second time, drinking slowly, a different smoky flavour of earthy reminiscent of oak. Without haste, he took another sip. A mix of different fruity flavours, cherry and strawberry, spread inside, although he could also feel cinnamon.

“Lady Aelia wants me to kill her husband. Though the idea to commit such an act, it doesn’t sit well with me.” Taric confessed.

Garen glanced at his friend. Then he put a piece of pancake in his mouth with a date and a portion of honey. “How I know it.” Chewing his food, he laid his hand on Taric’s shoulder. “And now it’s my turn to gossip with you.”

The voice of Taric’s friend carried an ominous tone. His eyebrows followed heavy the frown on his face. Taric felt his friend’s fingers pressing on his armour, as Garen’s stoic posture carried a secret within.

He glanced around, and then he whispered, “between us.” Putting more food in his mouth, he made a pause and then whispered. “The king’s castle was assaulted last night.”

As Taric moved his tankard to give another sip, he laid down his drink on the table. “How? The royal guards are well trained man—”

Garen cut him out without realising. “Magic.” He took a long sip of his coffee without a rest. And when he stopped, he breathed heavily as his jaws forced his mouth to press tide. Then he grabbed a little of his food and bit it. “Your squire found the intruder. He confirmed us it was a mage.”

After Taric had another sip of his drink, he tipped his chin. Magic? He mused for a while as the creature or human mage came to his thoughts. But how could it be possible? At first, it made no sense, since the place had the greatest royal guards to arrest anyone trying to kill the king and his family. But if the creature or human allured, the guards to kill each other, then maybe Garen and their men could still identify the mysterious identity in the city.

Taric had to know. “I may have an idea who’s behind for the assault last night. However, will not be easy to identify it.”

Garen narrowed his eyes pensively, “how do you know about this?” He chewed his food.

“When they asked me to face her first husband, the lad told me someone or something helped him to realise his purpose in life. He didn’t give me a physical description, only to have heard a wise voice.”

Taric grabbed his sandwich. Biting it, the flavour of the fresh egg melted on his mouth, along with fresh mushrooms and tomatoes. Grabbing a slice of avocado, he stirred in the yolk on the plate, mixing it with the black pepper. The spicy, salty mixture touched his senses. He smiled, satisfied. “Mhm… delicious.”

After Garen finished chewing his food, he laid the spoon on the plate. Joining his fingers, his thumb taped with a soft rhythm on the index finger of the opposite hand as he placed his gaze on his food.

“Garen?” Taric gripped his friend’s shoulder, but he didn’t unflinchingly find comfort in his friend’s gentle gesture.

Yet Taric could listen to Garen murmuring, “Magic… damn foul mages always causing trouble! And now we have this one to have the nerve to assault our king!” Then Garen pressed his fingers harder than his frown grew larger. He continued, “but this could be a link… yes, only the voice, teleportation? Moving faster? It’s all that we have left.”

Watching his friend nervously never suited well with Taric. All the responsibility on his shoulders felt too much to endure, even for the example of Demacia himself.

Taric wished Garen could enjoy something like a piece of music or dance this morning so he could feel less tense. However, knowing him for so many years, Taric knew his friend wouldn’t stop until it could resolve the situation.

So, to make him relax, Taric spoke in his soft tone. “Tell me everything you have got so far. I will not betray your trust.”

Garen’s eyes found his friend’s as he stopped moving his fingers. “Who you just described may be our main suspect.” He paused, moving his hand to his powerful jaws. “Your squire spotted someone or something moving fast in the king’s place. He tried to look for a physical description but the mage had gone.”

“But how did the mage get inside?” Taric asked. “Our king has guards everywhere, unless the mage found an entry…”

Garen nodded as he relaxed his massive arm on the chair’s top rail. “Our Knight raptors found one window opened closer to the copula. They interrogate the noble if he noticed something strange, but according to his testimony he had far too many royalty responsibilities to pay attention to any intruder.” Then he drank more of his coffee. “During the investigation, our guards found a little dirt on the noble’s bedsheets.”

“But is the king alright?” Taric asked as he gave a sip of his herbal tea.

Garen nodded. “In the dungeons, a dead prisoner was brutally whipped, presumably from the bloody chains on the ground.” He explained. “And the cells from the other prisoners opened. The guard watching the entrance of the dungeon totally massacred.” He shook his head with a big curl of disgust on his lip. “May the Protect aim our shields and weapons against this filth mage!”

Taric patted his friend's shoulder, “Everyone will follow you until the end. They trust in your skills to capture who’s behind the assault.”

Garen stared at his friend as he opened his mouth to protest, but who could he with Taric’s soft voice? It didn’t sound right on his mind, so instead, he took a deep breath.

“Can you imagine all the prisoners of Demacia running free?” Garen addressed as he bit the last piece of his breakfast.

“It would be a disaster for sure,” Taric added as he finished his meal.

“Worse! This will put our city in grave danger!” Garen squeezed his hands. “Our king ordered us to double or triple the patrol in the city. If you ask me, your father will go mad.”

“What type of magic did the mage use? Do you know?” Taric had the last sip of his drink.

“According to your squire, it seemed like fast magic.” Garen stretched his short brown hair. “But the magesekeers insist the mage used some sort of teleportation or an invisible spell.”

Taric nodded, “I will compliment my squire for his duty.”

Garen crossed his massive arms, “and since you touch that subject…”

Taric remained silent and glanced around the room while his friend kept talking.

“According to your General you skipped again your line of inspection of our new recruits!” Garen got up, tapping his foot on the floor as a small group of guards stared at their direction.

Scanning the room, Taric placed his gaze on the stage decorated with daisies. The owners embellished branches with leaves in a swirling motion on the candle holders. Taric noticed the absence of the bards of the tavern on the stage. What new group will perform today? He wondered.

“You are supposed to be there! Attending your responsibilities.” Garen lectured his friend. “You are a Dauntless Vanguard Knight, Taric!”

In a sudden, all the customers inside jerked their attention to the stage. They whistle and tap their mugs on the tables by the sound of a cheerful scream.

“Attention to our dear customers.” The redheaded waitress moved her hands like a porcelain doll. “At King’s Crown, we will have a special guest.” She announced to the crowd. “Please welcome to our beloved Demacia, The Forest Guardians.”

“You must listen to this group, Garen.” Taric proposed as he laid his back on his chair. “You would love this.”

Garen frowned. “Are you even paying attention?”

“Don’t be disagreeable, this is a splendid opportunity for you to appreciate music.” Taric called his friend for attention, tapping with his hands on the chair next to him. “It saddens me to see you tense all the time. Just sit next to me, relax and have some fun. This will make your day better.”

Garen took an annoying deep breath, “You can be the greatest hero of Valoran! You have qualities I never saw for a while; in fact, you have the greatest attributes this country needs! Please Taric, for your own good listen to me!”

But Taric’s gaze stayed on the stage. The air filled with enthusiastic claps as a tall, brawny man came from a door closer to the fireplace. He had a big ginger beard and some braids on his long hair. Dressed with leather clothing and a big blue cape with a hood with white fur. He sat on a chair from the stage and grabbed the sack with pipes.

Next came two twins dressed in sophisticated green clothing and boots with high wheels. Taric could notice adornments on their clothing, especially their coats with elements of gold and arcane blue crystals. The blond young men sat at the chairs with the violin and cello.

Garen glanced at the door as a group of Countless Vanguard guards came inside. As they spotted him, they signed him to follow. He stared irritated at his friend and warned, “we will continue this later. You have to realise how important this is!”

Then a small female furry creature came to the stage. She wore a greenish like short dress and shoes. Her red cape flowed from the top of her dress with a royal motion. She wore her big fluffy ears’ greenish earring with a pendant shape. The creature sat on a chair, grabbing the lute.

Shaking his head, disappointed, Garen followed his men at the entrance, leaving the place.

Following next came a dark skin man. He wore long clothes, with his head covered. The man wore some belts with pots of all sizes. On his neck, the man had necklaces with perils and discs of gold. He sat on the table with the tambourine.

And finally came the last member. By her simple white dressing with some garnish elements of gold and blue attached to it, Taric could identify her as a Demacian. Her hair had daisies as decoration, tying up in a zig-zag shape.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” She greeted the audience, lifting the cubical instrumental. She leaned her back a little, to level the instrument to her chest. Despite the struggle, the singer managed the weight on her chest. “We are The Forest Guardians, new musicians traveling Runeterra in hopes to bring joy into your lives.” She smiled. “Please enjoy and dance with the spirits of the forest.”

The tavern became silent. The musicians between them nodded, playing their instruments.

The cello played a deep tone until the sack with pipes broke the silence with a strength that Taric never had heard before. It became the predominant sound in the room for a while. Then the black man played the tambourine with rhythm with his palms, moving down and up. The singer rolled her instrument like it was opening it, but without breaking it.

Instantly, Taric’s heart overjoyed by the harmony of the different instruments together. _Such a beautiful melody. The grace these artists possess to make our lives better is phenomenal!_

Then the singer sang with warm and sweet vocals, like a mystic muse from the forests praising God’s grace. Taric’s soul travelled in a world between dreams and reality.

In the deepest forests of Demacia, Taric walked among nature, witnessing its beauty rebirthing. It was the season ahead. The naked trees gave birth to leaves in branches, and the flowers bloomed with the gentle whisper of the Gods. Births gave music on the air as a group of bellswayers jumped on the grass. The sun, the king of all-stars, shone in splendour on the blue sky.

But not just the light revealed its charm, because the darkness would kiss the heavens. As the sun went to sleep, the moon shone along with the vain stars in the dark sky. Although some animals disappeared in the forest, Taric observed little flowers closer to a river, shining like lanterns by the moon’s light. Flies, frogs and other nocturnal creatures came to enjoy life in the dark.

Delighted with such beauty, Taric sang along with the singer, tapping his feet and hand with the music’s pace.

Children close to the stage danced with each other, like little princesses and princes in a ball. The people inside clapped their hands to follow the song’s pace, others simply drank and shook their heads to appreciate the singer’s voice.

Taric got and scanned the room. Placing his attention on the tables, he approached one with a group of farmers. Then he looked at a couple and gave him his hand to honour the dance. The woman chuckled, and like a queen, she bowed respectfully and allowed him to hold her hand. He signed the man to come along, and like so the man followed him, and the three danced together. Then a couple, after a couple, youngest after youngest, and oldest after oldest; those around danced together.

Everyone traded partners, and as he moved between the people, the redhead waitress awaited him. Both danced together, and Taric had a warm and joyful smile on his face. His mind abandoned his body to adventure on the forest mysteries again.

The instruments came back to play alone, together they played harmoniously, like a song coming from the past; a melody from the Gods and their creation. The instruments faded away slowly until it was silent.

Taric clapped enthusiastically, and the rest of the room did the same. Some customers whistled to encourage the musicians, as the musical group bowed respectfully to the captivated audience. The singer threw some flowers to the people inside, and the children, especially the girls, stopped to admire the elegant singer’s presence.

After his fun inside of the tavern, Taric had an idea. He would witness the painting and sculptor of the artist that had fallen from his grace. If he could bring back the artist propose, he could realise how important his work had become to the country. Taric had faith that this case would be a success; the man would recognise him and not allow his heart to surrender to the darkness.

Taric made his way to the Illuminator’s temple. Approaching the sanctuary, he got behind the celebrant’s chair. He smiled, hypnotised by the light, illuminating the brightest thing in the place.

The Protector, carved in marble. It stood silently – a figure with a radiant halo surrounding its head. Curious, Taric moved his hand to touch the statue. His fingers traced the rough lines of the helmet. Its stone was polished with precision, and he could almost feel the cold and hardness of her steel armour. The expression on her was austere and perfect beyond mortal comprehension.

And then he turned around to observe her back. Massive wings extended from her shoulders and she held two swords against her chest. Hundreds of candles decorated the plinth at her feet.

The artist captured her divine charm in perfection! Taric thought, utterly exuberant. How could such blessed hands have carved a transcendent figure as the Protector herself? He gazed at the hard work of the artist that managed to express her beauty exquisitely.

“The heavens have descended with your presence.” He kept admiring the divine figure. “As a champion, you will have my word to protect your grace. No battle, no thief, no intruder shall damage your eternal beauty.”

Suddenly another acolyte came out from the door, closer to the altar. Without noticing her presence, Taric walked around to touch more details on the statue.

“Excuse me Sir Taric, you aren’t allowed to touch Her.” the acolyte warned him.

Taric jerked his attention to the acolyte. “My apologies,” he nodded and left the area, walking to the inner sanctum.

As he reached the middle of the congregation, he stopped contemplating the prominent Demacian iconography on the walls.

Taric desired to express such a splendid scene, but how could he? The words couldn’t describe such a masterpiece.

The image illustrated open skies of such blinding light, as if the stars united their beam in one place. With great majesty and glory ascended the Protector, dressed with heavy armour as her wings in flames flapped in the air. Her eyes imitated orbs of fire through the eyeholes in her helmet.

At her back on the line, a great mass of warriors raised their weapons in devotion, exalting her with great fervour. Next, bakers carried loaves of bread. Their rectangular faces and hands had marks of hard-work despite their signs of old age. Next behind them, farmers and servants held baskets with fruit, fish, meat and wheat. Children played with animals such as cats, dogs, chickens, pigs and other farm animals.

The Protector’s burning swords stabbed into the king’s heart, next to his gilded lawbook in flames. The king and his guards, councilmen, executioner, servants, and followers burst into flames. By their distorted and opened mouths of pure horror, Taric could hear their voices screaming for mercy.

Taric felt a shiver running down on his spine, a sense of justice as if he was witnessing her unforgiving wrath, punishing the wicked.

Taric had known this story since his father told him as a child. The legend said a cruel King led his people to poverty. In a time of great famine, the King had gathered everyone from his realm to his courtyard. He declared he would end the old laws since it was his right, and he cast the gilded lawbook to the floor, proclaiming himself the law. And since the kingdom had too many mouths to feed, he decided to not nourish the elderly.

The first in line to be executed was a baker. The poor old man implored with his life that he could still give food to everyone. However, the King had too much cruelty in his heart, so he ordered the baker to be killed since the old man couldn’t have the same energy as a young man again. And so it was done. The old man’s head rolled to the ground.

When all seemed to be lost, the immortal Protector appeared in Her great wondrous and majesty. With her blades blazed with holy fire, she lunged her burning sword towards his heart. The king yelled in agony as she pierced him on the gilded lawbook resting on the floor. It was said the book burst into flames equally to the heat of the heavens, so it could cleanse all the sinners from Demacia. She burned with wrath the king’s guards, councilmen, executioner, servants and his followers. But continued throughout the land, scorching the rest of the wicked.

And since that day, the survivors have remembered forever of the glorious day that they would rebuild the city in justice and honour from ashes.

This was a lesson to remind everyone nobody was above the law and justice, all Demacians must act with virtue and honour.

Evil couldn’t corrupt such a brilliant mind. Taric had great conviction in that regard. However, if the artist’s heart had nothing left but impurity and depravity, Taric would remind the man’s passion for art.

After leaving the temple, passing through some districts and narrowed houses, Taric approached a broken open cupola where two city guards cautiously watched the entrance. Their dark hound eyes stared at each person approaching the place, severe and austere, as if they would save the king from an intruder. Their eyes raised a doubtful eyebrow at Taric approaching them.

“Greetings good guardsman.” Taric greeted them in good spirits. “Spiritmight gave me authorisation to enter these parts of the city. Lady Aelia specifically sent me for an important royal investigation.”

The guards traded looks at one another, shrugging their arms and nodding in disbelief. Then they stepped aside and let Taric pass through.

The Demacia Lesser Quarters hummed with the screams of citizens, leaving with nothing but memories of the end of times.

The holes and cracks on the petricite presented on the building’s structures, signs of powerful magic used on Demacian citizens and armies that gave all low morale.

Taric glanced to a bench, neglected from all attention. Delicate for its structure and beauty, yet dulled by the wooden planks slumping apart. Weeds travelled furiously on the bench as nature urged having what belongs back.

Taric glanced at the broken window as the ripped blue curtains flew outside like flags. The beautiful masonry with a splendid garden invited for a picnic, transformed into a graveyard. The flowers had a discoloured pigmentation, as if a necromancer had sucked the plant’s life.

As Taric walked in the streets, he reached a small plaza. A soldier’s headless statue held a broken shield and sword, devoted to its country codes of honour in the middle.

On some house’s columns, cords held ripped clothes and Demacian flags. Turning to a broken stone slab’s path, Taric covered his nose by intense putrescine and decaying smell in the area. He curled his lip as he spotted an empty bannock basket with rotten fish meat and vegetables, along with other personal hygienic products resting on the ground.

Such a cruel fate all people have lived, Taric thought.

Looking around, Taric noticed on the floor a red trace. Kneeling down, he touched it. It felt smooth on his fingers and bright as it touched his armour. _Blood!_

Following the red trail gradually, Taric realised a narrow street where the houses touched with another. Glancing around, he stepped forward in the dark alley.

Walking in the endless darkness, Taric heard a stomp. Turning to a broken house, he turned his oil lantern to the sound direction. After a segment of sounds of what seemed to be pots, suddenly everything emerged into silence.

Looking up, Taric saw the sign that Lady Aelia had described him, now broken and almost falling apart, shaking by the wind’s direction.

Coming inside with his oil lamp, a mixture of mould and smoke circulated inside the place. The dust particles floated in the air by the lamp’s light, guiding him inside. In the fireplace came an intense burning smell by the burned ashes. A trail of red handprints traced a path to a door slightly ajar.

As his feet moved through the deathly dark grass, he moved the oil lamp around. The air invaded by a putrescine odour as if the place became of rotting flesh. And as he kept walking with caution in the area, Taric moved forward his oil lamp.

On the first line, destroyed tombstones carried the faded names on rough plates. Closer to an open gravestone, Taric spotted a circle made of salt with a symbol written in blood which he couldn’t identify.

The creature or mage had been here, Taric thought.

As the horrific scent became stronger, a vinegar odour joined in the air. Taric recognised it for being a specific plant used by the Illuminators to give the injured soldiers anaesthesia.

Taric laid down his oil tamp and moved his hand on a tombstone. Sliding up his fingers, a silky sensation travelled his hand. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion since tombstones had a cold and squashed texture. As he moved his fingers, he felt thin linen sewed on a zig-zag structure on the soft surface.

The familiarity of the linen sewed resembled him from a threaded wound, operated by the Illuminators. This type of surgery was common practice to injured military men who fell in battle.

Taric shook the macabre thought in his head. It couldn’t be true. The artist couldn’t fall for this atrocity and malice. Yet…. Taric had to face reality, he must.

As Taric moved his lantern to investigate, the moon’s light brightened the place. He drifted down with the oil lantern. He narrowed his eyes in distress. “This… can’t be true.”

No words could describe what Taric witnessed.

The sewed human skin covered the broken petricite tombstone. On the block names of soldiers and nobles had messy calligraphy with a few drips written in blood, it seemed like someone with unsteady hands. As he moved to another group of tombstones, human corpses in exaggerated theatrical poses replaced the statues. And those considered angels had on their backs several dead ravens with their wings opened, pierced with rusty nails.

_I am the champion of beauty! All things are beautiful, but this… this is not what the artist deserves to be recognised for. With my help, my friend, you shall be brought back to your true purpose full of glamour!_

Taric wished to know the man’s fall sooner so he could have helped the artist in time. Nothing in this place resembled grace, only a madman’s delusions.

As Taric turned to face another tombstone. “It’s impolite to interrupt someone’s meal, lad.” A raspy masculine voice called out, chewing food.

Taric observed the artist finishing his meal. The middle-aged man wore a white apron tainted with blood, covering his noble clothing lacking any fashion and cleanness. His hat had not the Feathers lady Aelia described; instead, the artist replaced it with sewed human skin and crow feathers. Taric found the swollen vein on the artist’s neck, pumping alive.

Watching the man’s transformation broke Taric’s heart. How could someone with such a beautiful talent do this madness? What took the man to become savage? But it wasn't time for that, Taric had to rescue him from this morbid fantasy.

“Please, tell me this is not true,” Taric’s voice carried a grim tone. “Tell me this is not your doing.”

After the man finished his meal, he threw the bowl on the rocky pavement. Pieces of what seemed to be raw meat rolled over on the ground.

“You are not wrong; this is my doing.” The artist’s tone had an exaggerated euphoria like a fanatic occultist.

“No, it cannot be,” Taric shook his head. “You will always use people as a reference, you told me once. But never like this.” Opening his arms, Taric coaxed the artist to guide him. “Fear not my friend, I am here to help you.”

The artist laughed, “help me?” But his voice came shattered and weak. “No, no, Sir Taric; you will make things difficult.”

As Taric approached the artist, the man glared at him, leaning forward his body. His legs shivered, and his fingers moved to his apron’s pockets. They scratched inside as if he tried to grab something sharp, only to discover he had nothing.

The artist seemed fragile since his muscles on his body had lost their strength. Yet for him to do this type of art, Taric suspected the man sedated his victims first so he could use them for show.

But even in such a threat, Taric remained stoic. “You have my word you will leave this illusion,” he said, moving his hands to his chest. “Oh, many times I watched you painting in the streets? Witnessing you with grand passion immersing yourself in your own world—”

“That… man no longer exists,” the artist’s voice held a sombre tone. “That false identity of mine left the Demacia ideologies—”

“That is not true!” Taric insisted. “Do you remember when you painted the children playing with another in the garden? The dog chasing a stick? A gardener watering the flowers on the house? The mother sewing her children’s hat?”

“All lies! Deceptions fabricated to deceive you!” The artist’s voice tightened.

“Not for me,” Taric said in his soft tone. “That painting was memorable. I could hear the children laughing. The dog barking joyfully with the stick in its mouth. The water touching the leaves gently.” He smiled as the image of the painting came to his mind. “I asked myself how could such blessed hands create something so pure and transcendent — Ah! Speaking of such your painting and sculpture on the Illuminator’s temple is magnificent!”

“Nothing compared to this one,” the artist cut Taric off. “Can’t you see? All this is true art! True beauty.”

“Yes, art is beautiful but not like this.” Taric said. “People desire to experience something that could touch their lives, hearts; not something lifeless such as this.”

“Are you implying that my art is not worthy of admiration?” The artist asked.

“This art isn’t yours. It’s madness.” Taric moved his hands to his chest as his voice appealed with fervour. “You can still go back and do that again. Your true artistic nature. Your true self. You don’t need to live like this in misery and lies.”

The artist stared at Taric. “She sent you here, didn’t she?”

Taric nodded, “if you are referring to Lady Aelia, she did.”

“Spiritmight family… a bunch of opportunities and liars!” the artist gradually shouted.

“Now that’s an unfair accusation against them. If you hadn’t caused so much trouble, you could have been on good terms with them.” Taric addressed. “Why have you become this violent? If it is because of an empty promise—”

“Nobody promised me anything, Sir Taric.” The artist protested. “But she! Oh, yes… Lady Aelia is not what seems to be.” He hissed, but then he looked at Taric, “tell me how do you find her?”

“How do I find her?” Taric said, curious.

Taric reflected. What could the artist mean? Her appearance? Her attitude? Or something else? But one thing was certain, the artist didn’t take his eyes from him. They had a fixed broken stare as if they would cage Taric.

If his stare meant to scare Taric, that attitude wouldn’t work. Not because he couldn’t realise a threat, merely because he knew the artist was the one afraid.

Taric could notice in the artist’s eyes a fragment of discomfort. So many used this technique for fear of something that may intimidate instead. Taric took time to consider his words as he suspected the artist of being in a painful situation. And because of that, Taric had to find a way to not frighten the man.

So, after a moment of reflection, Taric said, “if you are asking about her appearance, she’s pretty. Many will look at her and see the perfect image of femininity.” He laid his hands on his hip. “She’s smart and diplomatic. Lady Aelia seems to know how to push people to her way, convince others to do her tasks she cannot.”

The artist raised an eyebrow, “do you truly believe in that?”

“Yes, I do.”

The artist stared so intensively at Taric. Not an ordinary stare, but eyes of someone that had more in mind that Taric could imagine. More like a warning than a threat.

“Allow me to educate you about something,” The artist said. “Our leaders are fragile like little insects and scared like puppies. Because of that, they will find other ways to strengthen themselves.” He explained, making a pause. Then moving his hand to his neck to locate the fat bobble. As his fingers touched it, he pulled his hands back. Squeezing them, he continued. “And that’s why you are here, like a good puppet you are. Serving her house for some nonsense they already planned.”

The artist shared the same emotions as Lady Aelia, Taric thought. He had too much resentment in his heart, which gave him a reason to become aggressive towards others. His monstrous creations of art seemed more an impulse. Was all this a way for him to communicate his rage towards the Spiritmight family?

But for Taric to know more about this poor man’s situation, he had to press on with more questing.

So, Taric continued his interrogation, “since it wasn’t a broken promise, then how did you end up in this mess? You used to be a simple man.”

“All started with lady Aelia.” The artist said, joining his fingers rubbing them frantically. “Everyone knew my artistic skills, especially royalty and mondain paintings, also my sculptors had tremendous success.”

The darkness in his eyes had disappeared, replaced with a murky gloom. The artist made a pause for a while and then processed. “This, of course, occurred until Lady Aelia’s father proposed to me to paint their family legacy. Naturally, I accepted.

“Then the Spiritmight family received their requests until the day of reckoning came.” The artist frowned his lips hard enough so he could feel the pain in his muscles. “Her father asked me if I was interested in having a wife. It came naturally to my response to that question, and why not? Everyone desires company and having a family it’s important for everyone — but not for them.”

He slapped his own hands to not reach the fat vein. “So, after my approval, I met my wife, Lady Aelia. She is as you stated the perfect Demacian feminine figure. To be truthful, I adore her and painted her portrait.”

The artist’s eyes shone like an absolute star at night. “Until she asked me to bring male and female to begin my work.” His pupils enlarged enough as if it would explode from his eyes. “You are thinking she order me to bring all these models to paint and sculpt—”

“Of course. You artists have great inspiration from everything,” Taric smiled. “I still have my portrait you painted. Everybody loves it.”

The artist’s voice gradually became dead. “‘My dear husband, stab them,’ she ordered with a grin I will never forget.”

Taric narrowed his eyes as his lips sealed the smile on his face, “you didn’t obey her. Did you?” He asked with a grave tone in his voice.

“With no choice, I granted her wishes.” With his fingers shaking, the artist moved his hand to his neck. As his finger touched the fat vein's skin, he curved his nails but stopped. “At first it was a shock. As an artist, killing wasn’t exactly something you will expect. I asked her what we will do with the poor girl and boy.”

Suddenly a dreadful silence occupied the place. A raven flew in the sky and croaked as it laid nearby on a covered tombstone. Then the artist spoke in a guttural tone, “’ you have your oils, paint them’ she demanded.”

“What was she suggesting, exactly?”

“My oils, Sir Taric, were the victim’s blood.”

Taric widened his eyes, “no. That’s not true!” He shook his head. “You jest, surely! Even though the situation isn’t funny.”

The artist involved his neck with his hands. He glanced around as Taric approached to his aid. The artist wasn’t on his best conditions, Taric thought as he followed the man moving to a pile of tombstones in the dark. Scanning around, the man found a small sharp rock. Grabbing it, he moved to his throat.

“Don’t end your life,” Grabbing the artist’s hands, Taric held them. The stone fell on the ground. “You have my word that nobody shall find you.”

By the softness of Taric’s tone, the artist moved his hands to his knees. Then, sheepishly, he lowered his head and confessed. “And then, I did as she asked. My — muses stabbed, mutilated, opened, served her desires. The portraits are still in the house, somewhere in her room, so only she can admire them.”

Taric patted the artist’s shoulder delicately as he nodded to keep listening to the poor man’s tragedy. The artist covered his face, pressing with his fingers on his face like a wet sponge.

“That house used to be my freedom to explore my skills. My art grew, and she admired them all—” as he uncovered his face, suddenly he moved his eyes and lips down, “until the others came.”

“The young hunter and the other lad,” Taric finished.

“Yes…” the artist hissed. “They also made part of their schemes. They tried to interrupt on my expeditions with jealousy, of course, but they couldn’t. Lady Aelia protected me for a time until she paid attention to the others.”

The artist squeezed his hands as its nails penetrated on his flesh. As his hand skin ripped apart, blood ran on his hands. Watching such destructive behaviour, Taric had to encourage him on the contrary.

“Don’t hurt your hands!” Taric held the artist’s hands again. “Don’t allow pain to destroy your talented hands.”

“They became part of the circle, the royal blood feast.” The artist continued scratching his head. “We have to compete, against our will! We never wanted this to happen! Lady Aelia, her mother, her lunatic of a father, wanted a bloody husband, and for what? Only the Protector knows.”

“Let me take care of your—”

The artist moved closer to a sculpture of an angel, then he stared at Taric that didn’t give up on reaching him out. He showed his teeth like a furious wolf protecting his precious cub.

“When they discovered we didn’t want to do this stupid weeding, they made our lives miserable.” The artist confided. “They dishonoured the lad, they unframed my artist visions with years of practicing and perfecting, and the young hunter — well, he was already affected.”

“What about the Lady Aelia’s young sister?” Taric addressed as he got closer enough to the artist. “She was innocent of all this. Why drag her? Don’t you think even though you are upset you went too far?”

“Yes… that poor innocent girl,” the artist nodded, not giving eye contact to Taric. “It was the young hunter’s doing, Sir Taric! By the Protector’s shield, I swear it!”

“Truly, my friend,” Taric shook his head. “You are hurting me now by lying.” His voice had a grim touch. “Which means you had a hand on her death. Please tell me, did you collaborate with the others to get vengeance?”

The artist glanced at Taric, “We had indeed collaborated. I gave him the idea to create a way to play mind games with the Spiritmight family.” He confessed, moving his fidgeting fingers. “But the hunter killed her by his own will, honest Sir Taric! I have no part in it.”

Listening carefully to his confession, Taric tried to catch another lie. Since the artist tried once, he may give another try to have some luck. Yet his declaration sounded honest.

All started with Lady Drusilla wanting justice for what they have done to their daughters. First, her young one’s death was exposed in public, and second, her older one received a letter of threat to her life. However, according to these men, the Spiritmight family had blood on their hands.

Apparently, Lady Aelia influenced this artist and others to her own needs, like a perfect wife asking her devoted husband to attend her troubled times. Taric couldn’t believe she could be this utter evil as the artist wanted to convince him of such.

All started from a plan to gain a husband, but for what purpose? Taric grasped to find an explanation why all this urgency. But of a sudden, it occurred to him as a plausible reason.

Lady Drusilla was old to fall in grace. If a disease caught her health, Lady Aelia would be her only successor to her lineage. Taric felt grief as he put himself in Lady Drusilla’s terrifying situation. Decrepit and possibly afraid of death and losing everything dear to her, she had to do anything in her power to protect her family.

There must be a reason all this mess ended up out of control. Why all these people are against each other. Taric wouldn’t pick sides. After all, he promised the Spiritmight family to bring them peace and help others regain their beauty back to their lives.

Looking at his favourite artist wouldn’t be easy for Taric to decide what to do. Taric would never kill him, the man just needed a helping hand to go back to do his transcendent art.

But even that seemed too late. The artist loved to use human flesh or animals to his artistic vision. For how long he had deluded himself matter not. Just the notion everyone would admire his new artistry could damage his identity forever.

But Taric wouldn’t give up on him. The man deserved a second chance, as did the young hunter despite their atrocities. And since the artist had the same fat vein as the young hunter, Taric had to ask.

“Did a wise voice tell you your destiny relied on painting and sculpting like this?”

“Not just the voice, his hand. It had… a glow! Purple glow!”

“If you can see him, ignore it. Listen only to me, my dear friend.”

As the artist got up from his post, his vein grew fatter, like a balloon with much oxygen inside. Blood ran from his neck, and some veins popped out inside.

However, the small marks on his swollen vein showed the artist touched less of his neck as possible. This meant the man had been in significant stress for a very long time.

“Let me live, Sir Taric.” The artist pleaded with his hands joined like a prayer. “Don’t bring me to her mother, or don’t put me either to be cured in the temple.”

Taric had to find a solution for this man’s situation, but what else could he do? If he brought this man to Lady Drusilla, only the Protector knows what laws she would apply to his sentence. But if he gets the man to the Illuminator’s Temple again, would the artist survive an exorcism? Perhaps Taric could try to make him leave the country and find another opportunity to find his artist life back again.

The last choice seemed for Taric to be the wisest one, but he had to dress and clean the artist properly for that to happen. Finally, the man’s fate smiled once again.

“Allow me to help you realise your beautiful art again. I promise fate will bring you fortune.” Taric laid his hand on the artist’s shoulder.

“Too late for that, lad.” The artist moved his head down as being ashamed of his actions. “There’s nothing left­— only misery.”

“Do not despair. You will leave this mess.” Taric stood his arms.

“What are you talking about, lad?” The artist asked, confused, as if what Taric said was a poor joke.

“A second chance to your life.” Taric smiled warmly. “My plan is to take care of your appearance, wash you at my home, and negotiate with a merchant that may need to trade outside Demacia. You will come with that merchant but hidden.”

“But wouldn’t the guards investigate the merchant’s stocks? And… what about the voice?” The merchant clearly quivered when speaking of it. “It told me you will propose this, it told me—”

“Don’t listen to it,” Taric took off his cape and covered the man. “Let me help you find another way. Trust me, you will not die.”

The artist glanced at Taric. At first, he narrowed his eyes as he distorted his lips. Then he whimpered, and as he moved his hand to his face, tears fell on his cheeks like lava falling on a mountain. Watching the artist realising his beauty in his art, Taric couldn’t leave this man alone.

Taric hugged the artist and patted his back, friendly. Moved by the Knight’s benevolent gesture, the artist hugged him. Watching someone trusting in him, he felt juvenile again and ready to start a new painting. Nodding, the artist embraced Taric’s arms and let himself be carried by the Knight.

Taric smiled, relieved. Finally, someone will receive a second chance and will see his beautiful career flourish with justice. To not drag any attention, he covered the artist.

Then he carried the artist to his house. Taric washed him and brought new clothes in the hope no one would recognise the man. He also covered the artist’s neck so no one could notice his vein; and if eventually would explode, Taric hoped not to be violent. He wished he could know a way to make the vein grow less fat, but for that, he had to learn how to exorcise it.

Then Taric showed the artist how he treasured the self-portrait painting. The man’s sparkle in his eyes grew, and his smile widened the care Taric had put to his effort. Taric encouraged him to follow this artistic path. To grab a brush and with his colourful oils paint on a canvas once again. The man seemed enthusiastic about the idea since Taric showed him nothing other than kindness and respect.

Next together, they rushed to a nearby tavern. The place had waitresses ruining around laying meals on the tables, as more customers seemed to come inside. Taric scanned the room as he and the artist walked around.

Closer to a window, a fat man with a straw hat ate a soup, as some bags rested closer to his feet. Taric recognised the man from one stall that sold old Demacian furniture in the marketplace. _This is good news! Finally, the artist’s fate will shine once again_. Taric approached the merchant.

Noticing their steps getting closer, the merchant drank the broth of his soup. “You aren’t a waitress.”

“Turn around and you may be surprised.” Taric chuckled. “Nowadays it becomes difficult to distinguish the difference.”

The merchant glanced at Taric. “Ah, lad it’s you! Come, come, have a sit.” He patted to a chair next to his.

Taric sat crossing one leg, “My apologises to interrupt your dinner,” he said with warmth as the smell of broth came to his nostrils. “Chicken soup, is it not? Are you going to have a long journey?”

“Aye. Me and the lads have to trade with some small cities nearby, long distance you see.” The merchant said, drinking his beer as he gave a glimpse of his soup. “If I wasn’t ruining out food, you could have some chicken.”

“Oh thank you, but not feeling hungry at the moment.” Taric glanced at the artist looking around while squeezing his sleeves. “Is possible my friend can have a sit as well?”

The merchant nodded as he invited the artist to sit. A waitress came to their table, and the artist ordered his dinner. She tried to ask Taric for his meal, but he refused.

As the waitress left to ask for the artist’s order, Taric whispered. “Do you think you could spare a brief space in your wagon for my friend to leave the city?”

“He looks familiar alright.” The merchant stared at the artist that placed his attention to the waitress waiting for his order. “Having bad luck with his art?”

“You could say that.” Taric nodded. “It doesn’t matter where you go, as long as he can paint and sculpt again. He needs a new start so he can improve his artistic skills and go back to his profession.”

The waitress came back with the artist’s order. As the man placed his gaze on the food, he wolfed his dinner like a starving child.

The merchant stared at the artist, narrowing his eyes as he tried to recall where he had seen the man. But finding no answer to his scepticism, he chewed a little of chicken in his soup. “Having company wouldn’t hurt, plus he can be on my wagon with my stuff.”

Taric smiled. “Thank you so much for your kindness.”

“But Sir Taric, would be possible for you to accompany me at the entrance?” The merchant pleaded, “last time a group of young people robbed me and the guards could do nothing to restore my merchandise.”

“But of course, my friend.” Taric patted the merchant’s shoulder. “I will protect you both until you reach the entrance.

Taric's gentle smile grew as finally the artist would have not just his life back but would no longer suffer the pressure of terrible memories from the past. If the man could be far away from the Spiritmight family, he would forget everything and embrace this chance. He could do it. He will be victorious, Taric thought.

And after the artist finished his dinner, everyone prepared for the journey. The artist hid inside the merchant’s wagon, and the man connected the cords to his horse. Taric accompanied the merchant until the main entrance of the city.

Two guards at the entrance placed their stare on them. Their eyes followed Taric and the merchant’s movement as the two came closer. Their brows furrowed slightly, and the black guard with a scar whispered something to his companion. The other one with black skin nodded several times and then grabbing his spear he stepped in front of the merchant.

The black guard raised his arm. “Halt!” He ordered.

The merchant obeyed the guard’s command. “A humble trader to travel for foreigner lands, sir.” The man saluted the guard with his straw hat.

The black guard narrowed his eyes at the merchant’s merchandise. “Do you mind if I ask, what do you have here, merchant?”

The merchant struggled, “mainly my stuff, sir.” He patted his own merchandise with care. “It’s old furniture, plates, porcelain pots, house stuff for those who would need good Demacian craft in their homes.”

“Do you mind if we investigate it?”

“No, sir.”

The black guard approached the wagon. Walking around, he stared at the top of the merchant’s merchandise as if something didn’t match what the man had reported. His nose twisted hard, as if the air had more dust than oxygen. With his spear’s shoe, the guard poked the merchant’s wagon, each corner with precision.

Taric’s heart pounded like any strike of the guard’s spear was a fatal dead sentence. He wished to run and tell the guard the merchant had everything ready for his departure, that everything had been qualified as legal according to Demacian laws. Yet if Taric would do that, the guard no doubt would suspect him of being involved.

So, against his will, Taric remained in his place, laying his hands on his hip. He glanced at the other guard. As their eyes found one another, something about the guard’s dead eyes. A side look inspecting the wagon, as if the merchant had to face a trial. _He’s still not convinced._

Taric’s heart raced faster. Could it be possible the guard suspected the artist being inside? But that would be impossible… However deep inside, the guard suspected something. Demacian guards had an intensive train to investigate what comes inside and out of the country. Such control had been necessary to keep Demacia in peace.

Taric found the scarred guard staring at him. He smiled amiably and waved, hopping the guard could drop his menacing stare and show some friendly manners. Instead, the scarred guard curled his lip and narrowed his eyes in displeasure.

The black guard reported. “Everything is clear.”

The scarred guard walked on a slow pace towards Taric. Then, as their faces faced each other the guard spoke. “Do you know this merchant?”

“Only by looks,” Taric answered, laying one hand to his hip and moving the other while explaining. “He is famous in the capital. He sells great old Demacian furniture, you should visit his stall one day.”

“Did he ask you to accompany him?” The scarred guard asked, raising an eye brow.

Taric nodded, “Only to the entrance.”

“He doesn’t need that!” The scarred guard’s voice had a vicious tone of authority.

“Aye I do, sir.” The merchant protested, glancing at the guard under his shoulder. “The last time I had to travel to a city nearby of our country, a group of thieves robbed me! The nerve of these young people trying to steal from an honest, hardworking man.”

The scarred guard covered his face, shaking it as he pressed his lips tighter in frustration. Then he found his companion’s attention on him.

“Would you like me to investigate further? We have encounter scenarios like this many times before.” The black guard suggested.

“No need.” The scarred guard shook his head. Then placing his attention to the merchant, he saluted. “All seemed to be in order. Save travels, merchant.”

Nodding, the merchant snapped the reins on the horse and disappeared at the horizon. Taric signed satisfied with how this encounter ended up. He saved two lives, and the Protector had granted the artist and the merchant her blessings.

Then returning home, Taric realised the opened door slightly ajar. Holding his shield, Taric opened the door, finding the dining room. The room had the shelf drawers opened as if a thief assaulted the house. Objects found on the floor as if a thief looked for gold but founding nothing of interest. Scrolls dispersed on the floor with some paint spread, making a portion of the floor painted black.

Whoever did this must have been in a hurry, Taric mused as another noise upstairs shouted from a door. It seemed the thief resigned inside and because he found nobody at home, he must not have noticed Taric coming.

Tilting his shield, Taric walked upstairs. Even with the loud noise from his boots, the thief didn’t seem bothered. Perhaps he didn’t realise Taric had arrived? Or merely the thief was armed and ready for a fight? Whatever was the case, Taric knew how to approach both situations.

As Taric reached the top of the stairs, he followed the sound coming to a door. Inside, noises of objects falling on the floor became louder. Taric opened the door and even creaking the thief didn’t move but kept with the search.

Already inside, Taric didn’t find a thief, but a familiar face. He dashed inside. “Father!”

Daniel said nothing as he glanced at his son. He kept searching the room, opening shelves like his hands had ants crawling on his skin.

“What happened? Are you looking for something?” Taric followed him.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” Daniel answered with a grave tone, pushing his eyebrows down heavily. He brushed around the room as if he investigated a crime scene, moving drawers from his secretary.

“Father, if I can help—”

“And you? Did you kill him as she instructed you?”

“It was a hard choice,” Taric confessed. “The artist still lives.”

Daniel took a slow, deep breath. “Where is he now?”

“He left the city.”

His father turned slowly around. The pupils of his eyes grew larger than his lips pushed its lines heavily down, making his sewed face a monstrosity of a man. As he opened his mouth, the bones and the veins from his neck widened.

“Do you have any idea what in Demacia’s name you have done?” Daniel’s voice echoed in the house like a vibrant, angry lion.

Taric moved his hands with conviction. “Can’t you see he deserved freedom? The poor man had his life completely a mess. He needed my support to get back to his—”

“First you brought the young hunter to Father Cassius so he could exorcise him, or what nonsense you thought.” Daniel’s lips grew heavy like he contained all his anger. “Then you allow a criminal to go free and escape our punishment!”

Taking a deep breath, Daniel glared at Taric with disappointment. His son dishonoured his country and the king.

“You did it again!” He hit his hand on the table. “You should have brought that hunter to Lady Drusilla. He would receive the right punishment for his crimes. And the artist… you should have killed him. You allow to miscarry a simple task for a Knight. How could you!”

Taric looked around his father’s bedchamber. The picture of both with his mother brought him a smile again. He didn’t quite remember her only her sweet voice telling him stories before bedtime.

“Mother is a beautiful woman.” Taric contemplated the picture, gazing at the feminine yet masculine features of her face. “No wonder you both got together. Destiny joined you.”

Daniel said nothing.

“Don’t you wish she could still be here? With us?” Taric asked. “Imagine her joy to see her husband and son together.”

“Get out!” Daniel yelled. “I don’t want to see you until dawn.”

Taric walked to the door and said. “Will you consider at least going to the ceremony? It has been quite a while since you have gone to see mother.” Taric said with his soft tone.

“Do you really think there’s spare time for me to see her?” Daniel didn’t make eye contact with his son. Finding something on his treasure box next to his bed, he took off a dagger. “A mage is out there and freed all the criminals from our dungeons. Our king urged us to find this mage as soon as possible, before he commits another crime.”

Taric smiled. “No problem. I will let mother know you are busy again.”

Taric opened the door to leave. His father carried a great height since his mother died, even if she did for the country. How painful must have been trying to nourish him alone, no wife to hug him at tough times, or comfort him.

Taric wished his mother never had died. He hoped his father could, for once, allow him to comfort and to show how he can breathe life again. What kind of man would he be if his mother could still be alive? Taric wondered. Would he still be the same grumpy man? Or a more relaxed and funnier person?

He had to try. He must show his father again the same peaceful feeling he once had.

As Taric stepped out of the bedchamber, his father said. “Go! And don’t forget to grab a flower and place it on your head.”


	6. Chapter 6

_PROLOGUE_

_“Present Arms!” The General shouted to the group of recruits grasping their weapons, as he held his spear. “I am your enemy. Face me!”_

_The recruits were so disciplined that each of them straightened their backs at the general’s harsh cry. Their minds could do nothing but to command their hands to hold their weapons. Each young knight, grabbing a little of their courage, lined up._

_The first young knight in line rushed at the General, raising his mace. The lines around his eyes were tight and drawn and his stare intense. Like a fearless lion. He roared, “For Demacia!”_

_Taric followed each motion between the knight and the General._

_The knight distorted his torso, tilting his shield as the other hand swung the mace. The older man didn’t move as the mace collided against the spear. The knight slid his legs back._

_The knights in line gasped as his widened eyes witnessed with fervour the action in the training yard. Taric was paralyzed by the violence and effort of his comrade. He grasped his sword with anticipation. He desired to rush to battle and help the poor knight, against such a General he wouldn’t stand a chance. But his mind constantly reminded him this was a test to make all Demacians courageous and fearless. So, against his will, he waited._

_The General, as terrifying as an angry bear, moved his spear towards the knight’s leg, fast and precise. The older man jabbed the spear at his legs, the recruit barely dodged, failing to his knees. Sweat ran over his face as his widened eyes stared at his mentor. The knight tried to stand up, however the General pressed the blade on the knight’s neck. Taking a defeated breath, the knight raised his hand in defeat. Approaching the knight, the General stood over his recruit and offered his hand, helping the knight get up. He returned to his comrades._

_And so the rest of the recruits fought their best to win against the General. Defeat after defeat, failure after failure, they fell to the ground until only Taric was left._

_A tense silence descended on the yard. The wind whistled through the grass and trees as Taric's eyes focused on the General. Squeezing his shield and sword, he waited for the older man to make a move. Every young knight murmured between themselves, like a crowd in a coliseum. And so, they waited… expecting to see the battle._

_The General laughed. “What's the matter? Aren't you capable of fighting?”_

_Even a little tense, Taric concentrated as the man remained in his place._

_“Such cowardliness for a Demacian!” the bearded General grinned. “Afraid to dirty your pretty hands? Huh?”_

_Taric could hear the other knights whispering between them in mockery. “The princess is here.”, “He will catch another flower today you will see.”, “I bet his muscles are just for show.”, “He’s the weakest of us, he will not stand a chance.”_ _Raising his sword closer to his shield in front of him, “For beauty, love and life,” he murmured, sprinting towards the_ _General._

_Closer to him, the General stabbed his spear against Taric’s legs. Taric gasped, as he swiftly defended himself with his shield. The harsh sound of the weapons against one another cried with anger and_ _precision. Taric pushed the older man’s spear aside with his shield,_ _as the General steadied his legs to keep balance._

_Taric knew this wouldn’t be enough. By the older man's performance with his comrades, the General will be a tough adversary for Taric to prove himself._

_The General raised his spear to hit Taric’s face. Taric dodged in an attempt to escape his General’s wrath, but instead his sword hit the older man's helmet. The clash of metal echoed in the yard in a frenzy. The older man's eyes widened like a vicious eagle, his teeth clashed in fury like an unleashed mad dog._

_Taric’s hands shivered with such horror. How will he defeat such a fierce man? What will break his moral? So far the General didn’t flick, gasped or trembled. As if he himself was made of petricite, the perfect weapon and armour in one._

_“Fight!” He shouted, parrying with his spear each Taric’s attacks as his sword kept clashing with it. “You are a Demacian, act like one!”_

_Panting in exhaustion Taric looked around to find a spot to begin his attack, however the older man didn’t give him enough time to find it. He rushed towards Taric like a typhoon._

_Parrying and dodging each other’s attacks, they moved around. Taric did a whirling movement with his sword as the General swung his weapon, making it fly. Taric’s heart raced as he glanced around his surroundings._ _Naked and vulnerable with only his shield, he tried to step back, but the General made his task difficult. Strike after strike, the older man tried to pierce Taric’s legs, and each time he dodged it._

_“Coward!” The General cried like a vicious beast, as he moved his spear to pierce Taric’s armour. “You are a Demacian! Fight!”_

_Hot sweat rolled down over Taric’s cheeks and his neck. In a mixture of horror and determination, he moved his feet swiftly, turtling behind his shield. The spear’s blade clashed with anger against the shield, echoing through the training yard._

_Scanning around, Taric hoped to find a weapon on the ground, yet all he had left was dirt and luck. His comrades witnessing the fight had their armours with them, and the one closest to his reach had a hammer._

_That moment gave him the hope he needed. As he moved towards the young knight; he thought of all the sick people he had assisted with the Illuminators, all the animals he had a chance to observe in the forest, all the nights he had watched the stars shining in the city with its light spender. These in his eyes were worthy of his protection, all these fragile beautiful lives deserve his kindness and warmth on their difficult times._

_His heart beat softly in peace as if he had listened to the most melodic song of a bard. He took a breath reaching to his comrade, Taric took his hammer from his hands. “Sorry, I will give your hammer back.”_

_“Hey! Give it back, princess!” the young knight yelled, raising his hand with fury, watching Taric getting ready to fight. “You better fight properly with that.”_

_“Fight? You are too optimistic.” Another young knight grunted in a jeering tone._

_Grasping the hammer with determination as he tilted his shield, Taric_ _rushed to the General with vigour. “For beauty! Love! Life,” he murmured_ _._

_Thus, restarted the motion between them._ _After a long while of dodging, parrying and moving around to spot a weakness, Taric swung his hammer, hitting the General’s spear._

_They faced one another. The General’s fierce expression had vanished, replaced with a huge satisfied grin and a glimmer of light on his small dark eyes._

_“I see a Demacia now!” He said with enthusiasm._

_Taric didn’t respond. Instead he thought of all the weak beautiful lives that needed his aid. He had to become the strongest protector! He must fight for them! Because he knew no one would._

_“What do you fight for?” The General pressed with his spear._

_Taric felt the pressure of the weapon against him, even well protected the strength of the General was making him force his muscles to endure the tension between them. But Taric had to win this fight! He had to prove he can defend those who will have his protection._

_“Again, Demacian, what do you fight for?”_

_A strong fire inside Taric’s heart spread inside like the sun's burst flame, vigorous, determined but gentle and without pain. He forced his jaw muscles to move up, feeling his teeth clashing on another as if he was holding a bucket full of water on his mouth. It was painful. To show such a vicious face, Taric felt like a mad dragon in frenzy, and by the looks of the General it was working._

_His eyes shone an intense light as if he witnessed some kind of wrath, his lines lips moved upward in bliss by such passion on Taric’s expression. Taric didn’t want to become like this, however for all those who he had witnessed in their troubled times, for all the creatures in Runeterra, for all cosmic and alike; he would sacrifice and train to defend them._

_“Demacian!” The General pushed Taric but he stood in his place. Realising this, the older man raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Tell me—”_

_Already exhausted,_ _Taric pushed the muscles of his legs and arms harder to_ _defeat the General. Interrupting the older man he answered. “For be—” He bit his lip hesitantly. Deep inside he knew no one will support his views, but as the fire inside of his heart grew he had to say it! “For beauty, love and life, sir!” He shouted._

_His comrades laughed like they were watching a circus performance._

_“What now?” the General asked, confused as Taric this time pushed him back._

_“For beauty! Love and life, sir!” Taric answered without hesitation._

_The General tried once again to push him back, but this time Taric had the strength to defeat him. He found his purpose as a future knight in his country. The heat inside him grew larger as he pushed and pushed the General back._

_“For beauty, love and life!” He shouted again, as his comrades laughed at his determined cry._

_Taric didn’t pay attention to them as he realised finally the General will break his defences. Titling his shield and moving his hammer firmly, he dashed fearlessness towards the older man, hitting him hard on the face. As the General raised his spear to defend himself, Taric bashed it aside with his shield, smashing the weapon with his hammer. The spear fell from the older man’s hand, rolling over on the ground._

_Silence filled the place until his comrades began again whispering between them, “No way… did the princess become a man?”, “I’m just impressed as you are.”_

_The General smiled. “Well done, Demacian.” He snatched his shield and drove the edge into Taric’s relaxed stomach. “And this happens if a Noxian notices your lack of concentration.”_

_Feeling the harsh bit on his stomach, Taric hugged his belly. He fell on his knees. “Next time, this will not happen, sir.” He nodded, accepting his lesson._

_And then, in the other younger knights’ group one of them burst laughing. “Guess not, the princess—”_

_The General stared at them. His eyes narrowed in such fashion as if their orbits would explode with fire. His lines of his lips twisted hard as if he was chewing rotten food. The rest of the knights shivered as they let their weapons fall on the ground._

_“For your disrespect towards your comrade, you will wash your superiors’ toilets, their houses and attend to the Illuminators temple of what they need. Do you understand?” the General spoke in a stern tone as all the recruits nodded in obedience._

_The older man tilted his head towards the exit of the building, watching them running in a worry. He faced Taric rubbing his belly between groans and moans. The General extended his hand. “Who told you that?” His voice softened but it had a grave touch._

_“No one, sir.” Taric answered with honesty._

_General gave him a dubious look, then he tilted his hand towards his hand. Taric took the older man’s hand. “You do realise what you said is treason, correct?”_

_“How?” Taric asked._

_General narrowed his eyes in discontent. “How?” He laid his hands on Taric’s shoulders. “Beauty doesn’t need you. Life doesn’t need you. Love doesn’t need you.” He paused and then he continued. “Demacia and the king needs you.” He nodded as he waited for Taric to nod back, but instead he remained still._

_Realising Taric’s lack of interest, the General said. “As a Demacian you have an obligation to defend your king, and to protect your homeland.” He squeezed Taric’s shoulder’s more to encourage him to hold his patriotic speech. “Wasting your talent like that isn’t worthy, believe me. You did better than your comrades today.”_

_Taric limited himself to smile. “They were nervous, sir.” He spoke in a mild tone._

_“You are something, aren’t you?” The General winked in a friendly manner. That small gesture made Taric push a gentle smirk on his face, even though he didn’t agree with the older man’s view._

_The General helped Taric to stand up, then he warned him. “I will pretend that nonsense never came from your mouth. So, tomorrow morning I want you to shout for the king, for Demacia. Do you understand?”_

_“But Sir, what if—”_

_“Do you understand?” The General raised his voice._

_Taric bit his lip in protest. He wanted to share with his superior how wrong he was. Couldn’t he see the poor people, animals, and even concepts such love need help as well? Taric knew this fight would be hard, so instead of being defeated, he would obey him, for now._

_“Yes sir.”_

_The General nodded satisfied, with his answer, then he encouraged him. “You are a talented lad, Taric. Don’t waste your potential for something futile.” He paused, scratching his baldhead. “You will be the greatest hero of Demacia.” He quoted. “Keep training and hold your position with pride.” He smiled. “Make your king and our kingdom proud, son. Remember that.”_


End file.
